CHAPTER 13 #2
“I need to get some things from my place,” I tell him without lifting my head, my words muffled.
He hears me anyway. It makes me wonder if he’ll always hear me. I hope so.
Titus’ hand stills on my back for a moment and amusement fills his tone, “Liberty Bell?”
I nod once and peek up at him while repeating, “Liberty Bell.”
One of his eyebrows arches and I get lost for a moment at the way his gray eyes dance with mirth and something more, something softer I’m not ready to examine. He brushes strands of my hair away from my face and my breath catches.
I can’t help but wonder where this is going while hoping I’m not wrong to believe in the forever in his touch.
“I have to say, I’m very curious about this project,” there’s genuine interest in his voice.
Not dismissal.
I’ve been worried he’d chalk it up to some silly hobby. But he hasn’t, and thinking he would isn’t fair to him.
I let the fear of his judgement, of the judgement I’ve been up against from the only man in my life up until now, slip through my fingers like sand. I don’t need to hold it anymore.
A smile slowly spreads across my face, and Titus tilts his head to the side slightly. “You should be,” I tease him.
He smirks and I feel it low in my belly. A thrum. A pulse. A need.
Even though my body is still languid with pleasure.
His hand lands sharply on my ass and I let out a yelp before instinctively smacking his shoulder. I yowl, “Hey!”
“As much as I want to bury myself in you again, which is what that look on your face is begging me to do, we have things to do today.” He slaps my ass again and I jump while narrowing my eyes at him. “Like get to your place and find out if anyone has seen Bobby.”
I sigh and begrudgingly climb off my man. I pause as I look at him, completely unbothered and looking downright smug. Considering the way my eyes rake over his tattooed covered bare chest, he might just have a reason to be that arrogant. Not that I’ll be telling him anytime soon.
Before I can take a few steps toward the bathroom, I turn back to him and point at him. “Don’t follow me.”
My big, bad biker Prez pouts. Actually pouts.
I just shake my head at him and wave my finger indicated all of his glory—and it is glorious—and make a tsking sound. “If you follow me, we won’t be leaving anytime soon and I need more clothes. My bag only had so many things in it. It was made for speed, not long-term comfort.”
“You talking to me about readiness is really turning me on,” he growls.
My head tips back as I laugh and head toward the bathroom. I take a quick shower and pull on the last set of clothes I have and my lips quirk. I wasn’t lying when I said I was basically at the end of the line when it came to my bag.
Sure, I can get things washed. I’m sure Opal has a very well-equipped laundry room around here somewhere. But I need a little more life in my wardrobe and right now the plain shirts aren’t working for me.
When I step out of the bathroom, Titus is already dressed and I look at him for a long time before he asks, “What?”
He looks down at himself and then at me.
I can’t keep the derision out of my voice, “Aren’t you going to shower?”
Titus chuckles while standing up slowly before tucking his phone into his back pocket and stalking in my direction. I freeze. Because in this moment, I’m the prey and he is most definitely the predator.
I’ve never wanted to be caught more.
“I was able to clean up enough to get dressed,” he steps right up to me and leans down, his nose slides up my bare neck.
Throwing my hair up into a messy bun that rivals a bird’s nest was the only option because all I want to do is go and collect my things. I probably should wonder why I’m not more insistent on going home and staying there, but I don’t.
That sounds like a problem for future me.
“But I have to be honest,” his words ghost over my skin and I swallow hard, “the thought of being covered in your scent is really doing things to me, Teach.”
The moan that comes out of me is totally involuntary and completely out of my control. It’s answered by a dark chuckle which whispers along my skin.
“I’m really not sure if I should be disgusted or strutting around here like I just won a beauty pageant,” I breathlessly admit, embarrassingly so, which I find I don’t really care about.
This time his chuckle is less sin and more real humor. I think I like that sound even more. Toss up, but I’m going with it.
“Definitely beauty pageant.” He kisses right under my earlobe and I shiver. “Now I’ll be thinking about you in a bathing suit all night. What would your talent be, Ezra?”
I giggle before gently pushing him away. While wiggling my eyebrows, I tease, “Not something that can be aired on national television.”
I’m rewarded with that sound again—his amused chuckle. The real one. Warmth fills my chest and I find myself leaning toward the sound.
With a slap to my ass, my surprised sound of annoyance follows him into the bathroom.
I find myself blushing as I look around.
When I step up to his cut, hanging on a hook near the door, the last part of what Titus slides on to step into his role to lead this club, something like sadness washes over me.
Not because he doesn’t wear it well.
Not because I’m afraid of what it means.
But because it must have been lonely at times. That is a feeling I understand.
The door behind me opens, but I don’t look at him. I can feel him watching me, watching the way my fingertips slide along the edge of the leather. Almost on his shoulders. Almost armor.
“Is it lonely?” I don’t look at him as I ask the question.
“Sometimes,” he admits, but it doesn’t sound like it costs him anything and it has me looking at him.
Can he see that loneliness in my eyes?
“When?” I can’t help it; I look at him while he weighs the question.
And the answer.
“At night. When the clubhouse is quiet. When I’m in bed alone wondering if there could be more,” his answer rings with sincerity. His gray eyes soften and something intentional enters his voice, “But it had to be the right woman at the right time.”
Unsure what to do with those words, I lift his cut off the hook and turn toward him, holding it up and out but not for him to take. His eyes flash with surprise and then he’s staring at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
His approach is slow, each step weighted. I wait.
One of his large arms slides into his cut and then he turns, hooking the other arm through the hole. I slide it up his back and into place. Leather wrapped around the steel of his shoulders. The mantle back where it belongs.
The weight one man must carry.
That sadness slams into me, but then his large hands are cupping my face and I’m looking into his eyes. “Hey, none of that,” his voice is tipped low. “Only at night,” he reminds me gently, “and now you’ll be there.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but he laces our fingers together and hustles me out of the room, like he knows it’s too much and is giving me an out. Maybe he needs one too. Either way, I’m grateful for it.
“No one has been near your house, so we have the all-clear to head over there after grabbing something to eat,” he tells me, his voice far too casual.
“How do you know that?”
He eyes me out of the corner of his eye. “Pretty sure you’ve already figured that out, Teach,” he drawls lazily. “But if I need to spell it out, I’ve had someone keeping an eye on your place too. I wasn’t going to leave it unprotected because desperate people are sloppy and messy as fuck.”
“I think that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” I gush just as we step into the main room of the clubhouse.
A woman’s cackle has me turning to find Lorraine Martin sitting close by. Her eyes sparkle as she looks at me.
She’s known around town as a no-nonsense kind of woman. I’ll be honest, she’s kind of terrifying.
“Hi, Nana,” Titus’ voice is soft and I can’t help but look up at him.
When I look back at Lorraine, I smile and barely stop myself from doing a curtsey. “Hello, Mrs. Martin,” my voice is polite, probably too polite if you know what I mean, “it’s nice to see you again.”
“I’m sure it is dearie,” she chirps.
Titus groans, “Nana, be nice.”
“I am being nice,” Lorraine seems actually affronted. Titus leads us over closer to her and she stands up. Her eyes are shrewd as she assesses me.
Honestly, I have no idea what she thinks of me. Unable to help myself, I fidget slightly and she smiles. It’s not cruel; it’s like a crack in the foundation.
“You’re not like your father, Ezra,” her voice has a finality to it, like she’s already measured me and found me to be exactly as I am.
Not wanting.
Not less than.
Not the polished woman my father conjured up as the person I should be.
“No, ma’am,” my voice is low and tinged with something like hope, “I’m not.”
“Lorrie,” she corrects me before glancing at Titus and then me again, “or Nana.”
She pats my cheek and then turns her full glare onto my biker. “Don’t be an idiot,” she levels him with blunt words.
His mouth falls open and then snaps closed, but I wouldn’t say he looks surprised. I’ve never known her to mince words.
The look Lorrie gives him leaves no room for interpretation. “She’s far too good for you. Don’t be an idiot and make sure you make sure she knows you are very aware that you’re leveling up here.”
Titus runs a large hand over his face and grunts. I have to bite my lips together to stop myself from laughing. When she catches my eye, she winks and I can’t keep the laughter inside of me anymore.
He looks between us with affection and amusement before shaking his head and leading me toward the kitchen.
“If you’re done torturing me,” he throws over his shoulder, his voice good-natured, “I need to feed my woman.”
When I glance back at Lorrie, she’s smiling from ear to ear and it feels like a victory.