Chapter Four #3
She made a noise that was half soft gasp, half gentle
whimper, and his dick actually started to hurt, straining against his jeans.
“Not to mention, we might need to sort through a few issues
before we rip each other’s clothes off and get busy,” he finished.
“Am I in danger of you ripping off my clothes?”
“Absolutely.”
Her eyes got bigger, then they got sultry in that hot way a
woman who knows she’s got control of your cock gets, before she suggested,
“Okay, just a suggestion, but maybe if you want to cool things down, you should
let me go.”
He got on that, but he did it shifting them so his back was
to the door and his body was barring it.
Only then did he let her go.
She stepped away, now appearing amused.
“After that kiss, I’m hardly going to run into the night,”
she told him.
“I’m not taking any chances.”
“Whatever,” she mumbled, turned, started to sashay back into
his house, and did it saying, “You promised me a beer?”
He watched her move, which did nothing to help him contain
his raging hard-on.
But when she was out of sight in his living room, he sucked
in another breath, got some damned control, turned, locked the door, shrugged
off his cut and hung it on a hook by the door, and then followed her.
Dutch went to the kitchen that was open plan.
By the time he pulled two brews from the fridge, she’d
followed him and was standing opposite the bar, living room side, hat gone,
jacket thrown over the arm of his couch.
He knew she was wearing black jeans, now he saw she had on a
tight black turtleneck.
And even covered from chin down, she looked great in it, and
her tits looked fucking amazing.
“How many books do you have?” she asked.
He looked beyond her into the living room that was decorated
in nothing but books.
He, Jag, Hound, Snap and Boz had built them after he bought
the place.
Now, every single wall, except, obviously, where the kitchen
was, was floor-to-ceiling bookcases that were, for the most part, filled with
books.
There were some framed pictures his mom had given him. One
of him, Jag, his mom and Hound on Hound and Ma’s wedding day. One of him and
Jagger with their arms slung around each other, both of them wearing their
cuts, the night Jag was patched in. Another one of him in his mother’s hospital
room holding his newborn brother the day Wilder came into the world.
And one of his dad, the dad that was no longer breathing,
leaning forearm to the bar in the Chaos Compound, smiling big at a camera that
was in front of the face of the woman of his dreams, the mother of his
children, his wife, Dutch’s mom, Keely Black Ironside.
The shelves were also punctuated by things like lamps and a
candle one of his ex-girlfriends gave him and he liked the scent of it, so
after they were over, he’d bought another one.
But mostly, yeah, it was books or space where more books
would go when he bought them.
Though, there were three shelves that were all albums
because he liked the sound of music from vinyl, which was, as far as he knew,
the only millennial thing he could get on board with.
He grabbed his bottle opener, popped the caps on both of the
Fat Tires, came to stand across from Georgiana, slid hers to her and waited
until she took a sip, something he did not do, before he spoke.
“First, before we get into inane things like my book
collection, I was a dick. It was out of line. You did not deserve it. And I’m
sorry that shit came out of my mouth.”
“Okay,” she said quietly.
“I was a dick two days ago when I dropped you off too. You
didn’t deserve it then either.”
“Okay, Dutch. Though, I’m not sure that’s correct.”
“It’s correct,” he said firmly.
She pressed her lips together then let them go and
whispered, “Right. Okay.”
“Second, that kiss was hot. So I’m takin’ you out to dinner
tomorrow night, somewhere nice, good food, maybe even fancy, then plan to spend
the night here.”
Her brows went way up, she sucked her lips in so far between
her teeth they disappeared, it was cute as all fuck, something he felt
in his dick, throat, and the fact his mouth got dry with the need to take hers
again, before she rearranged her face and asked, “Is that a biker’s way of
asking a girl on a date?”
“No fuckin’ clue. It’s just what’s happening tomorrow
night.”
“Righty ho.” She was whispering again and now looking like
she was about to crack up laughing.
“So, we on the same page with all of that?”
“Well, um…yes, of a sort.”
“What’s the ‘of a sort’ part?”
“I can’t tomorrow night.”
“Why?”
“Well, you see, my source in the DPD chose this unfortunate
time to realize I was using his fascination with my breasts to semi-kinda-but-mostly-definitely score information from him and
he pressed the issue. So, in order to learn what the cops know about Carlyle’s
dad’s case, I have to go out to dinner with him tomorrow.”
Dutch took a beat.
Then he took two.
Then he said gently, “Right, baby, you know that biker
research you did?”
She nodded.
“And that hardcore stuff you learned?” he continued.
She nodded again.
“Well, there is a definite Chaos version of that,” he told
her.
“Do I want to know?” she asked.
“Maybe not, but after that kiss, and what’s gonna come next, you need to anyway.”
She took her own beat before she invited, “Right then, sock
it to me.”
“You are not going out on a date with a guy who has a
fascination with your breasts when you’re in my bed.”
“I’m not in your bed yet, Dutch, and pointing out, it was
you who put a stop to that.”
“I’ll amend. You are not going out on a date with a guy who
has a fascination with your breasts when it’s a certainty you’re gonna be in my bed.”
“Dutch—”
He asked a question he did not want to ask.
“You into this guy?”
She scrunched her nose.
She was not into this guy.
He straightened, and he’d never heard it come from his own
throat, but he could not deny it was an actual growl when he started,
“Georgie—”
“He’s not a cop, but he has electronic access, and he can
give me good stuff, Dutch.”
“Yeah, and I know actual cops, a number of them, who also
have access, who not only won’t mind sharing, I’ve already got a sitdown planned with two of them tomorrow.”
“Oh,” she mumbled.
“Cancel your plans.”
She tipped her head to the side. “I kinda
can’t.”
“You absolutely can.”
“Well, see, now, if I screw this up, he’s gonna be mad, and I’ll lose my source in the DPD. I know
someone else who’s got loose lips, but they don’t have his kind of access. And,
as previously mentioned, I’m soon to be assigned articles on the crime beat, so
I need a good source. So I have to go, regardless.”
Dutch looked to the ceiling.
“I was right,” Georgiana said.
He looked back to her and saw her grinning.
“It’s totally cute, the protective, and in this case,
possessive thing,” she explained.
“I’m not feelin’ cute,” he
informed her.
“Well, you are,” she muttered to the neck of her beer bottle
before she took another sip.
“You go, you’re done, you come here to me,” he demanded.
“There’s a problem with that too,” she admitted.
Jesus.
“What?” he asked.
“I have a cat, that’s not really my cat, but I’m claiming
him. He was not a big fan of substitute momma leaving him overnight to go meet
a douchebag, deadbeat attorney in DC. So, in order to assist him in getting
over his trauma of spending the night alone, I really shouldn’t make him spend
the night alone again so soon.”
For the second time with shit she was saying, this time
especially after that kiss, he couldn’t believe his ears.
“You’re not gonna come to me
because of your cat?”
“Again, not my cat, though he is because I’m claiming him.
He’s my roommate’s cat. She’s a doctor without borders. And I suspect, since
she’s on stretch number two, she’s never returning home. So I’m taking this as
an abandonment issue even though all of her belongings are still in my
apartment, including her cat. But if by chance she does return, and she tries
to reclaim my-cat-not-my-cat, I might have to catnap him and go on the lam.”
After she delivered that, so they didn’t have sex for the
first time on his kitchen floor either, in that moment he considered it a very
good thing the bar was between them.
“Are you always this cute?” he asked.
“I hope so. Are you always this cute?” she asked
back.
“I’m not cute, babe.”
“You so totally are,” she mumbled, again to the neck of her
beer bottle.
She took a sip and then grinned at him.
Okay, what the fuck?
Why was his dick getting hard just watching her grin?
“So, how many books do you have?” she returned to her
earlier question.
“Bring your cat here, before your date-not-date.”
She huffed out a disbelieving laugh and asked, “You’re going
to hold my-cat-not-my-cat hostage so I’ll come to you after my date-not-date?”
“Yup,” he confirmed before he took his first sip of his own
beer.
“And you want me to serve my-cat-not-my-cat up as
hostage by bringing him to you before my date-not-date?” she asked, now smiling
huge.
He leaned into both forearms on the bar, his hands cradling
his beer between them.
She hesitated only a second before she did the same thing so
they were close enough to start kissing again.
He didn’t kiss her.
“So we got our plan,” he decreed, because, as funny as she
was, he was done talking about her cat. “You come to me before you go to him
and bring your cat. Then you come to me after. We talk. We drink beer. We watch
TV. Whatever. We sleep together but do not fuck. And I’ll take you out to
dinner the night after, and that’s when we’ll sleep together, after fucking.”
“I guess we do have our plan since the brand-new biker guy
in my life has just declared that’s the plan.”
“Affirmative.”
She started laughing soft and quiet and hella
pretty.
And he knew they had their plan.
Only then did he relax.
“And I have no idea how many books I have,” he told her.
“Have you read them all?”
“Not yet.”
“Is that a goal?”
“Yeah.”