My nerves crackle, color raining through my core. I twitch, going limp for several blissful seconds.
"I felt that," I breathe.
He smirks at me.
I reach for him, hand diving beneath his boxers and curling around him. With my other hand, I pull his boxers down. My breasts point toward him, aching to feel his chest against mine. "Take your shirt off," I breathe, pumping him. He obeys, twisting out of his boxers and yanking the shirt off over his head in almost one motion.
Parting my legs for him, I pull him to me. His eyes widen, then go heavy and slack with arousal—never losing focus on mine. He descends, his thighs flush against mine. I press his crown against me, rubbing it in a circle around and over my clit. I angle him down the length of my seam, gliding his head along the swollen flesh. Eyes still on his, I fit his head into place.
He fits his lips to mine and, inch by inch, fills me.
When we lock into place, he lifts a hand. Bringing it to my face, he brushes a curl away, cupping my head.
"I'm not gonna say it," he whispers, "but do you feel it?"
"I do," I tell him. "I do." When I blink, my lashes come away wet.
He swipes them away and stirs me with his length. He glides out, again achingly slow, leaving just his crown inside me. I move my hips, taking him back in. He slides each hand under my shoulders, wrapping his arms around me. I hug him back, winding my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. I meet each of his thrusts, the synced beating of our hearts booming against my chest, reverberating in my ears. The pressure builds, the storm reaching its crescendo. The sky splits, light flashing.
This time, when we shatter, our pieces rearrange, fitting into something new.
Us.
61
Cliff
"Son of a fucking bitch," Lucy shrieks from down the hall.
My gaze rockets to Olivia's. In seconds, we're both racing out of her bedroom and into her bedroom. We crowd her door.
"What's wrong? What's wrong?" I ask her.
"I'm in fucking labor," my cousin says, turning toward us. Sweat beads her hairline. "Holy shit. No one told me it hurt this bad! They all grossly understated how much it hurts."
I glance around the room. "I need the keys. Where are the keys?"
"What keys?" Olivia asks, shouldering the bag Lucy packed for the hospital weeks ago.
"The car keys. Where are the car keys?" I turn in a circle as if they'll just appear.
"Those would be downstairs," Lucy says. She and Olivia shake their heads at me.
"It's gonna be okay, Uncle Cliff." Olivia pats my arm.
Clearing my throat, I head toward the stairs. Olivia and I were all cuddled up on her bed, actually watching a movie. I knew Bunny would be coming any day now, but now that the moment's here, it's a little overwhelming. In just a few hours, I'll have a tiny niece.
I run down the stairs and through the living room, skidding into the kitchen. I snatch the keys up from the same spot they're always in: the table. I shake my head at myself.
"Maybe I should drive," Olivia says from behind me.
I turn, eyes settling on her wry smile. "I'll be all right," I say, smiling back.
She holds a hand out to me, and I take it, the warmth and weight soothing me. We suspend the moment between us, my chest tightening.
Lucy shuffles in behind Olivia. "Do you guys need some time? Because I don't need drugs at all."
Olivia's eyes close in silent laughter. Neither of us have ever seen Lucy like this. I kind of wish I was recording this on my phone right now. Someday Bunny's gonna want to see the moments leading up to her grand entrance in this world.
"Let's go!" Lucy barks, turning and marching out of the kitchen. Out of the house.
"I'd better go get the car." I slip an arm around Olivia and together we follow her.
"That motherfucker," Lucy curses as she settles into the backseat. "He doesn't even have the balls to watch me go through this."
Olivia slides in beside her, and I jump into the other side of the backseat, sandwiching Lucy.
"Who's driving this thing?" I quip.
My sweet cousin gives me a glare that I'm pretty sure would drop the hardest criminal at Lewisburg.
"Or not." I get out and put my ass in the driver's seat.
I drive to the Waterbury Hospital emergency room, pulling up as far as I can without blocking the ambulances.
"Be right back," Olivia says. She hurries to the entrance, where she snags one of the security guards. A moment later, they head toward us with a wheelchair.
"I can wa—" Lucy's words are swallowed by a guttural groan. She breathes through the contraction. When it passes, she drags her eyes to mine. "I'll take that wheelchair now."
"Thought so," Olivia says. She and the security guard help Lucy into the chair, then whisk her away.
I park. On my way down, I whisper to my mother. She loved Lucy. She'd love Olivia. "Please make this all right for Lucy and help Bunny arrive safely."
I don't know if she hears me, but I like to think so.
Eleven hours later, I stand on one side of Lucy, her hand gripping mine, tendrils of scarlet hair plastered to her face. Olivia holds her other hand.
"Just one more push," the obstetrician promises.
Olivia grimaces at me over Lucy's head.
"Liar!" Lucy screams, bearing down. All of a sudden, strong cries fill the room. The obstetrician holds up a squalling Bunny, purple and writhing.
She's pissed.
"Tell 'em," Lucy calls to her baby. "You did so good." Looking up at Olivia and me, she bursts into tears. "She did so good."
A nurse wraps Bunny in a receiving blanket. They whisk her away to clean her up a little and take her stats.
"You did good," I tell Lucy, kissing her sweaty forehead.
"Remind me to never do this again," she sobs.
"Remind me to never do this," Olivia mutters. She pushes damp hair out of Lucy's face.
A nurse places Bunny in Lucy's arms. Olivia and I crowd over her.
Bunny scrunches up her face, lips puckering at the air. She's as red as her mama's hair and her auntie's temper. She's got Lucy's nose and chin, her hair dark—I'm assuming like Ben's.
"Can we say she gets her curls from me?" Olivia asks.
Lucy gazes at her daughter, tired eyes full of wonder. "Sure," she croons, already more herself.
Nurses flurry around Lucy, propping her with a pillow here and there, and outfitting her with an ugly ass pair of mesh underwear.
"Stop looking at my lingerie," Lucy quips while Olivia gapes in horror.
Eventually, the hospital personnel files out of the room, leaving the four of us in a warm haze.
"Think you two will ever have one of these?" Lucy asks, eyes darting between us full of mischief.
"Fuck off," Olivia says brightly.
I reach for Bunny, cradling her in the crook of my arm, her head resting in my palm.
"Jesus, Cliff," Lucy says. "You could hold her in one hand. Oh my god, she's so small."
From across the room, Olivia smiles, her gaze locked on Bunny and me.
"What do you think, Bunny? Want some cousins?" I ask.
"I will kill you," Olivia says.
I know well enough to believe her.
"I'm going to kill him first," Lucy seethes.
"Me? I'm on your side," I balk.
"Stop calling her Bunny." She shoots me a frosty look.
"What else are we supposed to call her?" Olivia says.
"Leigh," Lucy tells us. "Leigh Demmel." She nods to herself. "Both of you have a 'li' in your names."
"She's always gonna be my Bunny," Olivia insists.
With the soft weight of the baby in my arms, I look at these three women—my whole world, all in one room. I would die to protect them. I take a snapshot of the moment for my memory, one to hold in my hands as a reminder of better times.
Moving to Lucy's side, I shift Leigh to one arm and wrap the other around Oliv
ia. It may not be the picture perfect I envisioned, but it's my perfect—ours, judging by the way Olivia smiles up at me.
She might break my heart again—she might do it every day, even—but she's worth the risk.
The End
Wanna Know If Mercy Finds Bree?
The next book in the River Reapers MC series is under way!
In the meantime, find out if Mercy finds Bree. You can only get the novella by joining the official River Reapers MC email list.
Join Now
Got a Cliff/Olivia hangover? You can also join my reader group on Facebook to connect with other fans of the River Reapers MC series!
Body Count
5
Acknowledgments
First things first: federal parole laws changed in 1987, but for the sake of fiction and both Cliff and Mercy's stories, I'm pretending people convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison can still get out on parole. Don't @ me.
This book almost didn't make it off my hard drive because it contains a lot of my personal truth. I'm forever grateful to everyone who encouraged me, held my hand, fed me, and read early drafts: Kristen Barone, Sharon Barone, Wendy Bianca, J.C. Hannigan, Michelle Heron, Molli Moran, and Katy Young. Huge thanks especially go to Molli Moran, who somehow knows when to push me to write better and when to pat my hair and tell me nice things.
In 2006, I met my own Cliff, a patient, kind, supportive man who stood by me, supported me, and loved me while I untangled and worked through my own trauma. He never budged, even when I pushed him away. A little of Mike is in every romance hero I write, but a lot of him is in Cliff.
I can't stop gazing at the beautiful, bold cover that Natasha Snow designed. She's a magician who always transforms my vision into something mindblowing that I never could've imagined. This cover is so Olivia, and embodies everything I feel about this book.
Once again, Erica has been a guiding light in my life, supporting me while I navigate PTSD, chronic illness, and life in general. The world needs more Ericas.
After I wrote the second draft, Kayla did a tarot reading for me that shook me up and re-focused my energy. She held me accountable throughout the production process, checking in with me, reading early excerpts, and waving pom-poms.
I'm also thanking myself. This is the hardest book I've ever written, and some weird shit happened both while writing and editing it. Yet still I pressed on. This has been the most agonizing of book births, but so very worth it to shine light on some of my truth. I don't just write, I twirl.
Last but never least, thank you to my readers, old and new. Without you, none of this is possible.
Until next time,
Elizabeth Barone
About the Author
Elizabeth Barone writes books starring badass belles who chose the other path because her life is just as offbeat. Before publishing her debut novel, she was a chef, web designer, apprentice teacher, and retail soldier, but writing is her first love. It took a debilitating autoimmune disease to make her realize it was time to chase her dream.
Elizabeth is the author of over a dozen contemporary romance and suspense novels. She lives in Connecticut with her real-life book boyfriend (husband) Mike and their feisty little cat Squirt.
Connect with Elizabeth
https://elizabethbaronebooks.com
[email protected]
Also by Elizabeth Barone
Standalone Novels
Any Other Love
Crazy Comes in Threes
Just One More Minute
The Nanny with the Skull Tattoos
Sade on the Wall
The Stairs Between Us
River Reapers MC Series
A Disturbing Prospect
A Risky Prospect
South of Forever Series
Twisted Broken Strings
Diving Into Him
Savannah’s Song
What Happens on Tour
Available at https://elizabethbaronebooks.com or the retailer of your choice.
MAIETTA INK
A Risky Prospect
River Reapers MC, Book 2
Copyright © 2019 by Elizabeth Campbell, writing as Elizabeth Barone
All Rights Reserved
Version 1.1 | Last updated March 4th, 2019
Cover photography by Nestor Rizhniak / Shutterstock
Cover designed by Natasha Snow
These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic or mechanical—without permission in writing from the author.
Print ISBN 978-0-9912838-8-0
Created with Vellum
A Risky Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 29
