Chapter Thirteen
Ramona
By the time dinner was over, everyone in the clubhouse knew what Bob and the others had found in Ron’s office.
The notes. The fax. The fact that whoever had been terrorizing the Kings somehow knew exactly when six of them were standing inside Ron’s office, going through the things he’d hidden.
I didn’t like any of it. Actually, that was putting it mildly.
I fucking hated it.
I’d thought the situation at the campground had been scary. Someone following me, breaking into my RV, slashing my tire, and searching through my things had been enough to send me driving three days across the country looking for a man I hadn’t seen in twenty years.
This was different.
This was someone who had been playing with the Kings for months. Someone who had killed people. Someone who had nearly killed Bob. And now they knew for sure that Ron had been taking orders from them.
I sat on the couch beside Bob with my legs curled beneath me and tried not to think too hard about the words Anchor had told us were printed across the fax.
YOU’RE ALL GOING TO DIE.
The common room was full, but it wasn’t as loud as it normally was. Nobody had gone off to their rooms after dinner. Nobody had left the clubhouse. Anchor hadn’t technically ordered everyone to stay in the common room, but that was pretty much what had happened anyway.
The television was on. I had no idea what we were watching. Neither did Bob, judging by the fact that he’d barely looked at it. He’d been touching me since he’d gotten back from Ron’s office.
When he’d first walked into the clubhouse, he’d come straight to me. I’d barely managed to ask what happened before his hand had gone to the back of my neck and he’d pulled me into him.
He’d kissed my forehead.
Then my lips.
After Anchor explained what they’d found, Bob had kept me beside him.
Through dinner, his knee had been pressed against mine beneath the table.
Now his arm was stretched across the back of the couch behind me, and his fingers were absently moving against my shoulder.
Every once in a while, they’d slide up into my hair. Then back down, like he needed to keep checking that I was still there.
I probably should’ve been bothered by that, but I wasn’t, because I was doing pretty much the same thing.
My thigh was pressed against his. My hand rested on his leg. Every time he got up, my eyes followed him until he came back.
I knew the clubhouse was probably one of the safest places I could be right now. There were armed bikers everywhere. Nobody was wandering around the island alone. Doors were locked. Cameras were being watched.
None of that made me feel as safe as Bob sitting beside me. He was the reason I’d come here in the first place.
And every time his fingers moved against my shoulder, some of the tightness in my chest eased.
“You okay?”
I looked up at him. Bob was watching me. “Yeah.”
His eyebrows lifted.
I smiled slightly. “That wasn’t very convincing, was it?”
“No,” he chuckled.
“I’m okay. I just don’t like knowing someone was watching you guys.”
“Don’t know that they were actually watching us.”
I gave him a look.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I don’t fucking believe that either.”
“Exactly.”
His fingers moved beneath my hair and rubbed the back of my neck. I leaned into him.
Across the room, Piney and Post were arguing about something that had absolutely nothing to do with murder, threatening faxes, or the old Kings.
Shay was sitting sideways across Prime’s lap while she talked to Pearl.
Anchor stood behind the bar with Skull and Vin.
Push, McKayla, and Lost had gone to the hospital to check on Erin and update Wannabe on what was happening.
“You tired?” I asked.
Bob looked down at me. “No.”
I nodded.
Then he added, “But I could go to bed.”
“Huh?” That made zero sense.
His eyes stayed on mine.
I waited. “What?”
“I said I could go to bed.”
“I heard you.”
“Good.”
I frowned. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”
His mouth slowly curved.
Oh.
Oh.
Bed.
Our room.
Alone.
My eyes narrowed. “You’re sneaky.”
“Didn’t think I was being that sneaky.”
“You said you could go to bed.”
“Yeah.”
“You meant we could go to bed. You said you weren’t tired.”
“I’m not.” His fingers slid from my shoulder to the side of my neck, and his thumb brushed slowly beneath my ear.
My stomach flipped. “Ah,” I whispered.
“She gets it.”
“Shut up.”
Bob chuckled.
I glanced around the common room. Nobody was paying attention to us.
Or at least they were pretending not to.
I looked back at Bob. “Are you sure?”
His smile faded slightly. “About going to bed with you?”
“About...” I waved vaguely toward all of him.
“Very fucking sure.” His hand slid down my arm until he reached mine. Then he stood. No struggle. No pause. He just stood. God, I loved seeing that.
He held out his hand. I looked at it before placing mine in his.
Apparently, we were going to bed, and neither one of us was tired.
“Night,” Bob called.
Five different heads turned toward us. “Night?” Piney asked.
“Yep.”
Piney raised an eyebrow. “It’s eight-thirty.”
Bob stared at him. “You keeping track of my bedtime now?”
“No. Just didn’t realize you were ninety.” Piney raised his hands. “Goodnight, Grandpa Bob.”
“Fuck off,” Bob grunted.
I tried not to laugh.
Shay’s eyes bounced between Bob and me and her smile slowly spread. “Good night, Ramona,” she sang.
Bob tugged on my hand. “Come on, doll.”
I followed him toward the hallway before Shay could make things worse.
We were halfway to his room when I leaned closer.
“They know.”
“Don’t care.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Nope.”
He opened the door, and I walked inside. The second it clicked shut behind us, everything changed.
His eyes moved over me slowly.
I swallowed. “What?” I asked.
“Come here.”
“You really like telling me that.”
“You really like doing it.”
He wasn’t wrong.
I stepped toward him. Bob reached for me and settled both hands on my hips.
For a second, neither one of us moved. Then he leaned down and kissed me.
Slow.
Nothing like the kisses we’d stolen throughout the day and the past few days.
His mouth moved over mine while his hands stayed on my hips, holding me close without pulling me any closer than I wanted to be.
I put my hands on his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath my palm. Bob tilted his head and deepened the kiss.
I opened for him.
The sound that came from the back of his throat sent a shiver straight through me. His hands moved around my waist. I stepped closer until there wasn’t any space left between us.
That was when I felt exactly how not tired Bob was. His hard dick was pressed against his jeans and my thigh.
I smiled against his mouth.
“What?” he muttered.
I pulled back just enough to look at him. “You seem to be feeling pretty good.”
His eyes narrowed.
I laughed.
“Keep laughing.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Promise.”
He kissed me again.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, then immediately remembered the scar. My hands dropped to his shoulders.
Bob noticed and his mouth left mine. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Ramona.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I confessed.
His expression softened. “You won’t.”
“Your neck—”
“Is healing,” he finished.
“I know.”
His thumb brushed my cheek. “I’m not made of glass.”
“I know that too.” God, did I know that.
“Then kiss me.” That I could do.
I leaned into him and pressed my mouth to his. Bob walked me backward toward the bed. When the backs of my legs hit the mattress, he stopped.
His breathing was a little heavier and so was mine.
I looked at him. “You okay?”
“I’m fucking fantastic, doll.”
I smiled. “Just checking.”
“I know.”
His hands went to the hem of my shirt. I lifted my arms and Bob pulled it over my head and dropped it somewhere behind him.
His eyes immediately went to my chest.
I looked down, then back at him. “You’ve seen a bra before, Bob.”
“Not that one on you.” The way he said it made my entire body warm.
I reached for his shirt. “Your turn.”
He lifted his arms, and I pulled it carefully over his head.
The first thing I saw was his chest. The second was the scar.
I couldn’t help it.
My eyes went there, and Bob went still.
I reached up and ran my fingertips lightly beside it. His eyes stayed on my face. “I hate that someone did this to you,” I whispered.
“I’ve finally seen the bright side of it. It brought me to you.”
I shook my head. “I much would have rather you be unscarred.” My fingers slid down his chest.
“I’ve heard chicks dig scars.”
“Chicks, huh? You planning on impressing the girls?”
He shook his head. “Just you.” He kissed me again. This time, there was less patience behind it. More hunger.
His hand moved down my back, and he pulled me against him while his mouth traveled from mine to my jaw and then lower.
I closed my eyes.
“Ash—”
He stopped.
I opened my eyes.
“Did you just call me Ash?”
“Maybe.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Old habits.”
“Thought I was mostly Bob now.”
“You are.”
“Mostly?”
I smiled. “Do you want to keep arguing about your name right now?”
“Nope.”
“Good.”
I pulled him back to me, and he laughed against my mouth.
A minute later, we were sitting on the edge of the bed, kissing while I worked at the button of his jeans.
My fingers stopped.
Bob looked down. Then at me.
“What?”
I hesitated.
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to ask me again.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m fine.”
“I just—”
“Doll.”
“What?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay.”
He kissed me, and I let myself believe him.
Because he did seem fine, more than fine.
His movements weren’t weak or hesitant. He wasn’t struggling to breathe, wasn’t pale, wasn’t trying to hide that he needed to sit down.
He was just Bob. A Bob who was still recovering, yes, but also a man who clearly wanted me.
And I really fucking wanted him.
We took our time. There wasn’t any reason not to.
I pushed his jeans open and found him already hard, the heat of him surprising even through the cotton of his boxers. Bob made a low sound against my mouth, and I stroked him once, twice, learning the shape of him, and the way his breath caught when my thumb pressed just so.
“Christ,” he muttered, and kissed me harder.
Our clothes disappeared slowly between touches that made me forget about everything outside the room.
The notes. The fax. The campground. The killer.
All of it faded until there was only the warm weight of his body, the roughness of his hands sliding under my shirt, and the way he paused to look at me when I lay back against the mattress.
He settled over me, and I ran my hands over his shoulders, down his arms. Strong. Warm. Real.
He kissed me slowly, his hand moving over my side, my hip, slipping between my thighs. I was already wet when his fingers found me, and the sound he made sent heat flooding through my chest. “Bob.”
“I’ve got you.” His mouth was at my neck, my collarbone, and then lower. “Let me.”
I did. I let him ease my legs apart, let him trace me with his fingertips until I was arching into his touch until I was saying his name like a prayer and a complaint all at once. He watched me the whole time, his eyes dark and his jaw tight with the effort of going slow.
When he finally guided himself inside me, we both stopped. His forehead rested against mine. His breathing was heavy. So was mine.
His eyes stayed locked on me. “You good?”
I smiled, half-laughing, half-breathless. “Really fucking good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He kissed me. Then he moved.
Slowly at first. Deep, unhurried strokes that filled me completely and then retreated until I was chasing him, pulling him back.
He kept one hand threaded through mine against the mattress, his grip tight while the other traced my breast, my waist, the place where we were joined.
Every time I made a sound, he answered it with a kiss or with a shift of his hips that sent pleasure sparking up my spine.
Sweet wasn’t a word I’d ever thought I’d use for Bob.
Sultry, maybe. Sexy, absolutely. Stubborn.
Bossy. Annoying. But there was something incredibly sweet about the way he stayed close.
The way his mouth kept finding mine, and the way he checked my face between every few movements like he was memorizing me.
Nothing about it felt casual.
I wrapped my legs around him and let myself have this. Have him.
His rhythm built gradually, never rough, never rushed.
When I came, it was with his name on my lips and his hand firm at the small of my back, holding me close while I shook apart.
He followed not long after, his body going still and then shuddering, his face buried in my shoulder with my name rough against my skin.
Afterward, he didn’t roll away. He stayed inside me, stayed close, his thumb tracing lazy patterns on my hip while our breathing slowed.
“Still worried I need a nap?” he murmured.
I laughed, the movement making him exhale sharply. “No.”
“Good.”
He kissed my shoulder, my jaw, finally my mouth—soft and unhurried, like we had all the time in the world.
There was no Skull Island. No killer. No campground in Iowa. No RV sitting outside ready to take me anywhere I wanted to go.
There was only Bob.
The man I’d driven three days to find. The man who wasn’t Ashland anymore, even though there would probably always be a little bit of Ashland somewhere inside him. And the man I was quickly realizing I wasn’t going to be able to walk away from without leaving something important behind.
Bob’s arm was around me and my fingers moved lazily over his stomach.
Neither one of us had said much since we’d finished. Mostly because I was still trying to get my brain working again.
Bob’s fingers slid through my hair. “Well?”
I lifted my head. “Well what?”
“You done worrying I’m gonna die from having sex with you?”
I smacked his stomach.
He laughed.
“Don’t say that.”
“What?”
“Die.”
His smile faded.
I hadn’t meant for my voice to sound as serious as it did.
Bob’s hand moved to the back of my neck. “Hey.”
I looked at him.
“I’m here,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“And I’m good.”
“I know.”
He studied me for a second. “You scared?”
I could’ve lied. Normally, I probably would have. Instead, I nodded. “A little.”
“About the fax?”
“All of it.”
Bob didn’t tell me there was nothing to be scared of. Pretending otherwise would’ve been stupid.
He pulled me closer. “We’re gonna figure it out.”
“That’s very confident.”
“Got a room full of assholes too stubborn to quit out there.”
I smiled. “That does seem to be the Kings’ greatest strength.”
“Pretty much.”
I laid my head back against his chest, and his fingers returned to my hair.
Outside this room, someone wanted every member of the Kings of Anarchy dead.
Someone had been watching them closely enough to know when they were inside Ron’s office. Someone had killed Bernice and almost taken Bob from me before I’d even gotten the chance to find him again.
That scared the hell out of me.
But Bob’s arm tightened around me, his lips pressed against the top of my head, and for tonight, I let that be enough.