Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
WAR
When a woman does not want to be found, she is clever enough not to give many details away.
It has taken me eight months to find Cleo.
Eight fucking months that woman has had me chasing her.
When I woke up after our night together, she was gone. No trace of her in my room except for her scent—I could not shake the feeling that something had happened for her to bolt without a word.
Part of me expected as much, but that did nothing to dull the ache when I finally realized she was gone.
I spent days after thinking over what I could have done to make her run. There was something between us; she had to have felt it. There was no way it was one-sided.
The way she looked at me, the way she touched me—it hooked into me.
Eight months of chasing information and believe me, the women who belong to the Three Kings were no fucking help.
Girl club apparently, and all that fucking jazz.
It went against everything in me to stay in Nevada and at the club, but the pull to Cleo kept me there. Tote offered me a seat at the table in exchange for my nomad patch and it has been niggling in my mind since he asked.
The need to find Cleo first to see what will play out between us would sway my final decision, even though I knew deep in my bones I was never letting that woman go.
After a party at the club, and me plying the woman with some new fancy girlie cocktail, did Taya let slip that Cleo lived in Phoenix, Arizona and did in fact work for another MC.
At first, I was angry, thinking that maybe she came into our club to get information, but I quickly tossed that thought away because she showed nothing but respect to all the club members that night at the party.
Intel got me more information, and I found out that Cleo was only twenty-four to my forty-one. Fuck me, she is a baby compared to me, and if I was a better man, then I would leave her be, but damn, she is under my skin and a constant ache in my balls.
With the summer Arizona sun glaring down on me, sweat trickles down my back, my face, and neck. Fuck me, the heat is a killer, but I will deal with it because let’s face it, Cleo is mine and I need to see her.
She will get used to the idea of being mine, and I will show her every fucking day for the rest of our lives what she means to me. What being mine entails.
Coming to a stop at the address Intel gave me, I look at the one-story home. Three arches fill the front of the house: one of them is over the garage and the other two open up to the porch. The outside is painted a pale blue, and it makes me think of Cleo’s eyes.
There is a blue 1965 Mustang in the drive, and images of Cleo driving it make my dick thicken behind the zipper.
Dismounting my bike, I have a look around the surrounding houses, and they are all in good condition. The street seems quiet for late evening. Some kids are playing with chalk on the sidewalk, women watching over them from their porch.
Seems like a good neighborhood.
They clock me, watching as I walk up to Cleo’s front door. I smirk, liking that they could possibly be keeping an eye out for my woman.
Raising my hand up, I knock on the door and wait.
My heart starts to pick up speed, anticipation reeling through me.
I am a forty-one-year-old man and this fucking woman has me in knots. There is no answer, so I knock harder. Then I hear it.
“Freaking hell, give a girl a chance to get out of the shower.” Her voice sends a wave of remembrance and desire through me and the time we spent in the shower.
My cock likes the thought and jerks in my pants.
The door swings open and there she is, dressed in a purple silk robe that stops mid-thigh, her hair piled up on top of her head, and her skin is damp and flushed from the hot water.
“War?” With wide eyes she looks at me, shocked as shit to see me.
“Cleo,” I greet, my voice deep. It makes her shiver, her nipples poking at the material of the robe.
We stare at each other, neither of us speaking while the shock of her seeing me wears off. Her eyes, still wide, trace my face, as if trying to piece together why I am here—why now, after eight months.
She blinks, then shakes her head like she is shaking the shock away.
“What are you doing here, War?”
I take a breath, searching her expression for any clue as to her reaction to me being here. The sexual tension stretches out between us like we only fucked yesterday.
“You left before I woke up. Don’t you think I deserve an explanation?”
She scoffs, leaning against the door jamb, shaking her head at me.
“We fucked. We had one night and that was it, War. I do not owe you anything.”
When I step toward her, her eyes widen, her breath hitches, and I smirk.
“One night. Baby, I can still feel you riding my cock. How so fucking good your pussy squeezed me.” I moan, dropping my head to her neck, licking the warm skin.
“Stop,” she says with zero fucking conviction.
“I think we should take this inside, before we give your neighbors a show.”
She sighs against me, her hand gently gripping my T-shirt.
A sudden, high-pitched screech slices through the thick tension. Cleo jerks back like she’s been doused in cold water, her fingers releasing my shirt. She blinks, fast, her gaze darting away from me, as if trying to hide her desire but also her confusion.
“You know what you feel, baby. Let me come in, so we can talk. I want to know why you left me. I wanted more of you the next day, but found a cold spot instead of a sexy warm body.”
She takes another step back, the heat in her eyes dimming as she pulls herself together, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Can we just leave everything behind from that night? It has been eight months, War. I think we have both moved on.”
Anger rolls through me at the idea of her moving on. Letting another man into her body.
“You been fucking other guys?” I snarl.
Her eyes widen but not in fear. She folds her arms, popping a hip, looking all sassy and sexy. Cleo squares her shoulders, her breathing steadier now, the flush on her cheeks fading as she straightens. Whatever hold I had on her a moment ago, it’s gone—at least for now.
“Who I fuck is none of your business, War. Just go,” she hisses.
“Not fucking likely.” I throw her over my shoulder, ignoring her pleas to stop and put her down.
With a slap to her bare ass, she quiets down, and I grin, before lifting the material of her robe and biting her outer thigh.
“Ouch, War. What the hell? Put me down.” She thumps me on the back, earning her another spank. When I enter her living room, I see that the whole living space and kitchen are open plan.
The space fits Cleo. Cream walls with some tattoo art work around the room, and some skull decor also, like the skull planters and candles. In the corner of the room, there is a vintage looking tattoo chair, with a throw over it.
Her sofa is red/brown leather that fits the space.
I sit down, keeping her against my body so I can sit her on my lap. She struggles to get away from me, but I hold firm.
“Can we talk?”
“No. I want you to go, I am not a fucking home-wrecker. You fucking lied to me.” Her hair has shaken loose from her elastic, covering her face. I am stunned by her words, so I tighten my grip, but she still fights.
“For fuck’s sake.” I flip us so that she is on her back and I am wedged between her legs, pinning her down.
“Let me up, War. NOW!” she screams.
“No,” I snarl. “You will fucking listen to me and answer my fucking questions. I will not hurt you, Cleo, you know this. Now quit fucking fighting me.”
She stops moving, opening her eyes and looking up at me. Her chest is rising and falling with her harsh breathing, and her robe has slipped open, giving me a view of one of her perfect tits. Needing her to fucking listen to me, I cover her up, as her eyes narrow at me in suspicion.
“If I get off you, will you not run and talk to me?”
She thinks for a second, and I believe she will toss my ass out the door, but she sighs.
“Fine.”
She sits up, adjusting the silk robe, the material flushing against her breast, and I have never been jealous of a piece of clothing before, but here we are.
I inch back but not too far so that I cannot touch her; I need her close to me. Not being able to touch her for months is killing me. The fucking spell she put on me that night has haunted my dreams, and left me with a broken dick.
Not that I went looking to get my dick wet. It just did not work unless I was thinking of Cleo.
“Tell me why you bolted.”
She keeps her arms tightly crossed across her chest, looking out the window.
“It was a one-night situation, War, you knew this.” Her voice is firm, but I hear the slight tremor in it.
She is trying to convince herself that we had our time and it won’t happen again.
“I don’t believe you.” Her head snaps in my direction, and I grin.