Chapter Fifteen #2
“I’d stay down there for the rest of my fucking life and die a happy man.” He grins and we shift so he’s sitting up with me half straddling him. “Wanna fuck?”
I huff a laugh in response and grab the back of his head, pulling at the lengths of his hair as I kiss those plush lips of his.
There’s something sexy about how a man tastes after going down on me, and Grinder is no exception.
We both moan into each other’s mouths and I’m two seconds away from freeing his cock, but I’m enjoying this meal far too much.
It can be dragged out for a little longer. I guess the blowjob was the bread rolls the waiters bring to the table before the real food comes out and this is the appetizer.
“I do, yes.” I manage to speak through panted breaths.
“But not tonight. Up you get.” I pat his cheek and we shift around to the correct positions for inside a truck as I pull up my jeans.
“Take me to my new temporary home, driver!” I point forward and side-eye him to watch his response.
His facial expressions are super emotive and it’s just one more thing that makes him so fucking attractive.
Yes, fucking attractive. Not just plain old attractive.
“I still need the keys.” He grins, his head tilted in amusement.
“Forgot about those.” Digging into my cleavage, I grab the keys and dangle them in the air.
“Mmm, warm.” Grinder winks and starts the engine.
“By the way, for a motorcycle club, you seem to drive this truck around a lot. I mean, those bikes are a thing of beauty. The ones that followed us to the beach…fuck, they were stunning. Why haven’t I seen you on yours?”
“Because I want to spend as much time with you as possible, and we have a code in our club for back seat riders. Old ladies and old men only.”
I actually knew that, because who hasn’t read a motorcycle romance book?
“Fair.” I’m not taking that as a personal insult, that he doesn’t see me as his old lady, because I’m not. Simple as that. We’re having a really fucking long meal together…then it’ll be over and on to the next one.
Twenty minutes later and I’m waving at the tail lights of the truck with quite possibly the sweetest woman to ever exist beside me and my purple suitcase.
“I really appreciate this. I promise I’ll contribute as much as I can, and I have a job interview tomorrow and—”
“Child, it’s okay. You take all the time you need to get on your feet.” Gripping the handle of my suitcase, she wheels it inside the house with me hot on her tail.
She may say it’s okay, but I’m not her usual house guest. Mac told me that Maribel takes in battered and abused women, protecting them and giving them a safe space to retreat to when they find the courage to leave their situation.
It’s something I’m totally behind, but I’m well aware that I am potentially taking the place of someone who is truly in need.
We’ll need a conversation at some point because she needs to know that I’ll leave as soon as she wants.
Tomorrow, the interview is going to be amazing. I'll start earning enough to pay rent, then I’ll find a way to repay Maribel for her kindness.
“We have one other guest with us, a woman named Kirsty. She’s been here for a couple of months and is starting to get back onto her feet. This is your room.” She pauses and opens a plain, white door into a stunning bedroom.
“This is for guests?” I expected a simple set up, maybe a double bed if I was lucky, and a bathroom down the hall.
But no, this has a queen-size bed, ample space to walk around, cute bedside tables, a dresser, a closet, and a freaking ensuite.
It’s decorated in a variation of pale grays and a pastel purple bedspread.
“For now, this is for you. Grinder told me your favorite color was purple, and I like to accommodate for these things and make you feel as comfortable as possible.” Her kind smile easily warms my insides. “Hot chocolate by the fire before bed?”
“This house has a fireplace? Yes, please!”
“Meet me in the living room when you’re ready. It’s just through there.” Turning, she heads down the hall toward—I’m guessing—the kitchen.
With a deep, satisfied breath, I pull my case into my room and fall onto the soft bed. The bed at the clubhouse was okay, but it has nothing on this one. I may have to ask Maribel if I can take it with me when I leave. I’ll have to save up enough to buy her a new one for her next guest.
A loud crash from the front door has me bolting upright on high alert because what the fuck was that?
“Where is she?!” An angry man booms through the house.
It’s probably the fucknugget who is responsible for Kirsty being here. I hadn’t considered that the exes would come searching for the escaped women, but now it’s happening, it feels inevitable.
Okay, this can be my first payment to Maribel. I’ll clear her house of this cockwomble…no…wait…there’s more than one. I can hear the thumping footsteps.
I look around for anything I can use as a weapon, my eyes landing on a pen and paper next to a really pretty lamp. Pen it is. I grab the ball-point and steel my spine, rolling my shoulders out to relax my muscles as much as possible before launching out of my bedroom door toward the noise.
There are three men, and one of them has a gun with a very fancy silencer attached, pointing toward Maribel. He’s threatening her, but I drown out his dull voice because I’m not interested in anything he has to say.
The other two men are flanking him, doing what they can to intimidate the older woman who offers her home to those in need. Fucking scum.
On light feet, I approach the one on the left and stab the pen into his neck before spinning toward the other and jumping on his back, jabbing him twice for good measure. At this point, the third man, the one with the gun, twists to face me with anger scrunching up his already horrific features.
Maribel screams and grabs her phone, no doubt dialing for the cops as the man points his gun in my direction.
“You’ll fucking pay, cunt.”
“Blah blah blah, come up with a more interesting insult, you bulbous-nosed prick.” Ducking, I lunge forward and stick the pen into his gut once, twice, and before I get to sing about the third lady in my head, a heavy blow to my back forces me down “That fucking hurt!” I pull his feet from beneath him, barely managing to roll away before he lands with a thud, the gun skittering across the carpet.
I’m a little winded, but I can push through, so I leap up as fast as I can and drop my knee down onto his face, the crunch of his now-broken nose sending a satisfying thrill through me. He stops struggling, stops trying to reach for his gun, and he’s either passed out or dead.
My breaths are coming in heavy and fast as I try to calm my racing pulse, and I look around at the three now-downed—probably dead—men.
There’s a possibility I took this too far, but one of them had a gun and there was no way I was about to allow some complete and utter twats to ruin my new life by hurting Maribel.
I guess…whoops?