Chapter 7
KINGSTON “FROST”
There she is, a frightened bird who’d flee at the first chance she gets.
The wall’s not going to save her. I remain by the door, examining her from head to toe.
No, not a bird, but a rebel. She defied me and thinks the layers she’s wearing will protect her from me.
My little rebel is so wrong. She’ll learn.
In person, she’s fucking gorgeous. Not too short.
Thin, small breasts, and wide light-green eyes, bolted on me.
She had longer hair in the picture, but her jaw-length cut highlights her striking features.
A slight upturned nose at the tip, high cheekbones, and red thick lips that are either natural or injected. Either way, I’ll be tasting them soon.
The guard Stevens breaks our connection. “Okay, King. You get two hours, so pay attention to the clock. I’ll come back in exactly two hours.” His head swings between us before he addresses me. “Understand?”
My glare makes him uneasy. “Yeah. I understand.”
Without another word, Stevens leaves, locking the door behind him.
I smirk, because fear burns off her. She doesn’t know what to make of me.
Inmate number 6878309 ain’t what she expected.
Her eyes remain on me at all times. She does a hard swallow, which would have me coming in no time if my dick was down her throat.
I sit slouching in the seat, gesturing to her purse. It snaps her out of her trance, and she rummages through it for the pack of smokes I told Gears to give her.
Inside the pack is a lighter, so I light one, and my foot taps the other chair. “Have a seat.” She remains standing by the window, so I shove the chair toward her. “Sit.”
Her eyes widen, staring at me as she cautiously sits.
I puff on the cigarette, legs open, both of us watching the other.
She clutches her purse to her side, legs closed, hands secured in her lap.
Nothing says stay away like her body language.
The fact she’s not jabbering on about some stupid shit or asking a fuckload of questions turns me on.
I can’t stand talkative people, especially women.
I stab my cigarette into the ashtray, hook my foot under the chair rung, and slide her closer.
Her hands instantly grab the sides of the chair, yet she remains seated.
Sitting forward, my face is a few inches from hers, yet, again, she remains still.
My gaze glides over her smooth skin—the color of warm sand.
The pulse in her neck is visible, and this has me grinning.
My fingers reach the front of her coat, and I unbutton it, attempting to slide it over her shoulders, except her purse is in the way.
I remove her purse, tossing it on the table, and succeed in freeing her of a layer of clothing.
Another hard swallow. If she keeps this up, I’ll be coming in my jumpsuit.
I chuckle at the shirt under her sweater.
From grasping the chair, her knuckles turn white, so I give her some space by balancing my forearms on my knees.
“Relax, Stevie. We’re just getting to know each other.”
“How do you know me?”
The side of my mouth curls upward. “I don’t.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Then why the note? Why ask me to come here? Why not call your girlfriend?”
I raise my hand to trace her jawline, and she flinches. “Smokey showed me a picture of you.” Her brows dip, eyes rapidly moving downward in thought. “You met him the day you brought cookies to Gears.” She snaps her attention back to my face. “And I don’t have a girlfriend.”
My finger traces along her hairline, brow, cheekbones, jawline, and lips.
Motionless, she lets me acquaint myself with her.
Her silky, cushioned lips are slick from her tongue periodically darting out to moisten them.
I’d love to fuck her on this table, except her posture and puzzled expression have me choosing a different approach.
A slow one. I have a year of torment to inflict on her.
The kind of torment she’ll experience during each session, quiet and slow-building, which will leave her guessing and confused as to what I’ll do next.
From this little bit, I’m guessing she’ll challenge me.
Her gaze is confrontational. Her silence is mysterious.
Not only will she be trying to solve what brought her here, but she’ll be leaving me wondering about her, and I don’t like that.
I want her thoughts as much as I want her body.
When I’m done with her, she’ll drop to her knees and suck my cock.
She’ll chant my name while impaled on my dick.
After I’m long gone, I’ll be tattooed onto her pussy for the next fucker who attempts to erase her memory of me.
Stevie breaks my thoughts and calms my dick. “So you saw a picture of me. Why not call one of those psycho whores at the salon?” Ah, those bitches got to her. “I’m sure you already know how they perform.”
I laugh at her comment, because she ain’t wrong. “Fresh meat never hurt anyone.”
She digs her heels into the ground, pushing the chair away from me. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Darlin’, I’m not asking.”
“Then why am I here?”
“No, I mean, I’m not asking.”
Stevie gasps at my comment. “You plan on raping me?”
I sit back in my chair, playing with the lighter, and respond, “Nah. Rape ain’t my thing.”
A humorless laugh comes from her. “Well, if I ain’t sleeping with you, and you ain’t asking, then it’s rape.”
“I’m more of the intimidation type, Rebel. In the end, it will be your choice.”
“Basically, you’ll threaten me, which doesn’t leave me much of a choice.”
My shoe hooks onto her chair, yanking her forward.
This upsets the chair, rocking it, and she catches herself on the table.
She’s not close enough, so I open her legs until the front of my chair and hers are touching.
I’m a patient man when I want to be. Sometimes the buildup is better than the end result, which is what I must remember while she suffers from the loud silence.
After checking the clock, I lean back, hook the heels of my shoes behind the legs of her chair, and focus on her.
No words. I’ll use the time to figure her out.
As the sergeant at arms in my MC, my job is to confirm the safety and security of my club members.
Through the years, I’ve become good at reading people, assessing them for long periods of time.
Taking in their movements. Who they talk to.
Gestures. Since it’s only Stevie and I in the room, it makes the process challenging.
In the stillness, she meets my stare. Her legs are open as she rests her hands on her thighs, back straight.
Well, I’ll be damned. She refuses to budge. Rebellious.
To shake things up, I lean forward, placing my hands on top of hers resting on her thighs.
Her jaw tightens, and my eyes shift to it, and then her lips.
Flicking my eyes to hers, I move in, pressing my lips against hers.
I notice her scowl, which only amuses me.
Her lips are warm, and I smell strawberries when she breathes.
Stevie doesn’t return the kiss or open up, but I love a challenge.
My hand clasps the back of her neck, and I change tactics, kissing the corners of her mouth, the tip of her nose, and along her jaw.
Women love shit like this, except Rebel.
She’s rigid as the piston on my ride, eyes diverting mine, looking over my shoulder.
I release her neck, gliding my hand down her throat, collarbone, and grazing her nipple outside her sweater.
Stevie sucks in a breath, and asks, “Are you in the Wolves of Mayhem MC?”
“Yep!”
Those gorgeous green eyes search mine. “This thing…whatever you’re planning with me…it won’t happen. I have a job. A life.”
My eyes follow the tip of my finger as it touches her lips, and I look up at her. “Oh, but it will.” I scoot closer. “You see, I’ll do whatever it takes to get what I want.” I swap my lips with my finger. “Which is you.”
“I’m not a piece of property.”
“Maybe not now, but you’ll come around to being my property.”
Rebel snorts. “I’d never in a million years be someone’s property, let alone a biker’s.”
“Ah.” Again, I brush the back of my fingers against her nipple. “Don’t like bikers, huh?”
She gives me a deadpan look. “No. I don’t.”
“Then this is your lucky day, Rebel, because you’re locked in a room with the meanest motherfucking biker you’ll ever meet.
When I wake up, the devil shits his pants.
My soul is fucking black.” I kiss her cheek as she gives me a sideways look.
“I’ll teach you all there is to learn about bikers.
” My tongue darts out, licking the curve of her ear, and I whisper, “Don’t underestimate me.
I might be a tatted nobody, an asshole, but I’m also a dark horse. ”
Stevie turns toward the window. “You think highly of yourself.”
“Think? No. Fact? Yes.”
The room grows quiet. I sit back, letting my words seep in.
When Gears asked her questions, she was vague, so I don’t know what brought her here.
What I do know is that Rebel’s out of her comfort zone.
She’s surrounded by bikers, yet she hates them.
Her job is about cleaning up dead people and their messes.
A job like that ain’t what a woman from nowhere would choose if she had choices, which tells me she either hasn’t worked in years or worked odd jobs to make ends meet.
Jasper’s company pays well. Her eye is on the money. I might have to fix that in the future.
For the rest of the visit, I let her stew in what I’ve said and what she can expect from me. She’s trapped. The amount of money she makes at Jasper’s is enough to restrain her from leaving. Plus, I’ve got my brothers and bitches to handle her if she tries to flee.