Chapter 3 #2
“Eat up,” I order, pouring the tea and then tucking into my own plate of food. At least I’ll let her enjoy her food before we talk.
“Seriously, I can’t eat another thing,” she groans when I tease her for not clearing her plate. Although to be honest, she’s eaten most of it. A rogue piece of bacon and half a slice of toast are all that’s left behind. My girl has one hell of an appetite.
My girl? Fuck off.
“I’ll clean up,” she says, getting to her feet.
“No need.” I grab her plate and move it over to the sink. “They can wait. We need to talk.”
“About what?” she shuffles in her seat and avoids eye contact.
“Don’t fuck with me, Gio. You know exactly what the topic of conversation is.” With my elbows planted firmly on the counter surface, I lean in towards her. “Start from the beginning, step by step from when you left the bar. What exactly happened.
The deep sigh that she makes tells me she’s resigned herself to the fact she’s going to have to tell me every detail of the event that had her running to the Saint’s Outlaws clubhouse for safety.
Giorgia
By the time I get to the part where I’d made it through the clubhouse doors, not even sure at this point whether seeking help from the Saints is a huge mistake or not, I’m sobbing like a baby wanting their pacifier.
Though my eyes are bleary, I can’t miss the pain and concern that’s clear in Noah’s eyes.
He seems to be fighting to control his emotions, his brow crunched together, jaw clenched.
The muscle in his cheek pulses, then as if something has snapped within him, he makes quick work of coming around to me.
Lifting me from the stool, he brings me firmly to his chest. His strong arms cocooning me in warmth and sincerity.
“I’m scared,” I voice my fear into his chest while simultaneously soaking up the comfort that being in his arms offers me.
“You have nothing to be scared of. You’re here with me, and that’s where you’ll stay until any threat to you is removed. We’ll work this out. Find out who these fuckers are, don’t you worry.”
“Noah,” I clutch onto the fabric that covers his chest, my gaze meeting his. He brushes his thumb across my cheek, swiping away some of the wetness from my tears.
“I’ll protect you,” he whispers, his lips so close to mine, his breath against them makes me shiver.
“What the fuck, Royal?” The deep growl of my brother’s voice from across the room has us bouncing apart.
His hackles are up, and he almost throws himself towards us. Quickly, I step in between him and Noah.
“Garth, chill your beans.” I put both my hands against his chest and with all my strength, I push him back.
“He was touching you,” my brother offers as an explanation for why he’s taken on the appearance of a raging rodeo bull.
“I was upset. He was consoling me,” I bark back. “It was a fucking hug, Garth. That’s all.”
“Come on, Grinder.” Noah steps up to my brother, placing a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You know me better than that. I would never break an oath or betray you, or any brother, especially when it comes to my best friend's kid sister.”
Noah’s words hit me hard in my chest leaving me feeling winded, but I clench my fist, my fingernails biting into the soft flesh of my palms, and turn away from them both so they don’t see the hurt on my face possibly giving away my true feelings.
“For your information, I am not a child,” I holler over my shoulder, making my way to the bedroom.
When I get to the doorway, I check myself before I turn back to them.
“From what I can see, the only ones acting like kids with their school playground antics are you two. Talking about someone like they’re not within earshot, really?
Grow up.” I stomp into the bedroom, slam the door behind me and throw myself face down onto the bed.
“Jesus, what was that?” I hear my brother curse out. “Talk about overreacting.”
“Yeah, well, she didn’t have the best of days yesterday,” Noah responded in my defence. My temper tantrum begins to ebb a little, but not for long when I hear my brother’s voice once more.
“Must be on the rag this week.”
“Still fucking hear you, assholes.” I screamed through the walls.
“Let’s take this downstairs,” Noah announces loudly, “give her some space to calm down.”
Calm down? Fuckers.
With my still-clenched fists, I punch the hell out of the mattress, frustration threatening to reduce me to tears again.
I hear the click of the door closing and roll onto my back to look up at the ceiling.
Visualizing their movements as they walk down the stairs and back into the common area of the club.
When I’m sure enough time has passed and they will be out of earshot, I growl out my annoyance with a few explicit curse words.
There’s no doubt I’m mad at the way they treated me, but my mind flips back to the way Noah held me close.
The way his lips hovered over mine. So close that if I’d have puckered up, I’m sure they would have touched.
I might have brushed it off as a simple hug to my brother, but it had been so much more than that.
My body lit up from Noah’s touch, the tenderness in the way he brushed his thumb against my cheek.
A powerful surge of arousal had spread through me, heading right to my core.
Even now, just thinking about it, my clit throbbed, begging for attention.
Low and behold, Garth had come in like a bucket of cold water and doused the flames in one fell swoop. Only for them then to be well and truly damped by Noah’s assurance that it had meant absolutely nothing to him.
“Grinder’s kid sister…” I gritted out in a whiny attempt at impersonating Noah. “Asshole.”
He’d really pissed me off, getting me so worked up and then dropping me like I was nothing.
A thought popped into my head. One that is slightly yuck, but oh so dirty.
I scoot off the bed and walk over to the set of drawers.
Sliding one open, I find a neat pile of press t-shirts, crisp, clean and folded so precisely, you’d think they’d just come out of the cellophane packets.
I pluck one out. It’s black cotton with a round neck, the Saint’s Outlaws emblem over the left breast.
“Perfect,” I mutter, wriggling my eyebrows, an evil smile playing on my lips.
I don’t bother closing the drawer before turning and heading back to the bed. I fling the top onto the bed, leaving my hands free to make quick work of getting my jeans off before crawling back up on top of the mattress.
Closing my eyes, I bring up the vision in my mind of Noah laid out on the couch, with only the blanket draped over his lap keeping his modesty.
With the image firmly in place, I slip my hand under the fabric of my panties.
I’m already aroused at the thought of him, tattooed, hard, toned body, so when I touch my fingers to my clit, a moan slips from my lips, my back arching off the mattress.
I pull up my knees, letting them fall apart, opening me up for my eager finger to slip inside.
In my head, Noah’s hand is resting on his chest, but starts to move down, over his abs, stroking his taut stomach, past his belly button and under the red and white check until he’s gripping himself.
Despite not being in view, his movements are clear as he fists his cock.
With the same imagined rhythm, I pump my fingers in and out of my now soaked pussy.
With my other hand, I blindly reach out in search of the t-shirt.
When I find it, I twist two of my fingers on my free hand into the fabric and bring it to my clit.
While one hand fingers me, the other flicks and rubs my clit, the t-shirt fabric adding to the friction.
Noah fists his cock faster, the blanket slowly sliding until eventually it slips to the floor, leaving him in full view.
His big cock is thick, hard and deep red.
Groans of pleasure fill the air, then with the next stroke, cum is pumping from his slit, spraying over his stomach, thighs and chest. Another moan, a cry of utter bliss.
This time at my own hand, when I’m hit with a powerful orgasm that has me seeing white lights and snatches my breath away.
I lay for a few moments until my heartbeat and breathing even out, all the while I have Noah’s shirt tight between my legs, soaking up all my juices.
I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed and have one last swipe between my legs once I stand, catching any remaining fluid.
I walk back towards the chest, drying my fingers off on a dry patch of the fabric before tossing it back into the drawer.
Closing it up, I can only snigger to myself at the thought that next time Noah comes to grab a clean shirt, his obsessively tidy ass will get more than what he bargained for.
Revenge is sweet… and sticky.