Beyond Reckless

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Real men get over it,” I say over my shoulder. “They don’t sit around whining about how their mommies were mean to them for the rest of their lives.”

  “Real men.” She snorts. “You mean the ones that grow up to take out their mommy-anger on every woman they meet?”

  “No. Real men don’t hurt women.” This time, I turn and I wink at her. “Unless she asks, of course.”

  I enjoy the pink blush that creeps over her cheeks. A little reminder that after this whole domestic scene we have going on, I plan to get dirty with her.

  She seems to shake off the moment quickly. “Everyone’s different degrees of fucked-up. Some darker than others.”

  “I bet you see a lot of that.”

  “I do. I hate it. Because I can only do or say so much. Sometimes I want to pound some sense into my clients. With a hammer.”

  “They probably don’t have a lot of options. Or good role models.”

  Her fists uncurl and she stares at her toes. “You’re right. That’s why I usually don’t.”

  “Usually?”

  She meets my eyes briefly and then looks away. “I received an assignment I’m not sure what to do with today.”

  “I thought you can’t turn them down?”

  “I can’t…I just…I feel bad for the kid. It’s his dad who should be facing charges, not him. It just…never seems fair.” She lifts her gaze and shrugs her shoulders. “Enough about me. Why are you here making me dinner instead of, I don’t know, entertaining strippers or something?”

  A flicker of irritation flares to life inside me, but I will it away because it’s a legit question.

  “For a young woman, you have terrible hearing.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We talked about this yesterday. Not even your bitchy little attempt to get rid of me changes things.”

  “Did you just call me a bitch?”

  “There’s that hearing problem again. You should have that checked.”

  She laughs. “God, you’re dangerous. All those good looks, muscles, and you’re funny.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  While I cook, she takes out plates, utensils, glasses, and two bottles of seltzer that we bought last weekend. The plates she leaves on the counter next to the stove. Everything else, she places on the table.

  A few minutes later I set our plates on the table.

  “You’re good. This turned out better than if I’d made it.”

  “I doubt that.”

  She glances over. “Two days in a row, huh? I must be special.”

  “Yup. Hearing problem and all.”

  She sets her fork down. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was running late and flustered.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Post-orgasmic.”

  “Thought that was supposed to make you happier.” I’m definitely getting worked up thinking about yesterday. “Your new chair should arrive Monday, by the way.”

  Her hand lands on my arm and I meet her gaze expecting her to smile or thank me or something. “My uncle came to visit me the day before yesterday,” she admits.

  I fucking knew it.

  All my pent-up lust drains out of me. “Why?”

  “Why do you think?” She crosses her arms over her chest and sits back. “I probably should mention he’s never been to my office before.”

  “He came to your office?”

  “He wasn’t wearing colors if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Merlin wearing his colors in my club’s territory isn’t what I’m worried about. “Are you okay?”

  She drops the defensive posture and sits forward. “I’m fine.” She doesn’t bother denying the danger her uncle poses. “I wanted to warn you.”

  “But we hadn’t exchanged numbers.”

  “Right.”

  “Then, I was flustered when you showed up. With David being there. Then…getting distracted.” She raises an eyebrow.

  “Why did you think you needed to warn me?”

  “Come on, Marcel. Don’t play dumb pretty-boy with me.”

  “Did he threaten you?”

  “That’s not really his style.”

  Like fuck it’s not. “Our clubs are on good terms right now.”

  “Yeah,” she says, drawing out the word to add some extra sarcasm. “So good, he’d like some info about your business dealings in Ironworks.”

  “Motherfucker.”

  “I told him I didn’t know anything and I wasn’t going to use you to get information for him.”

  Now there’s always the possibility that Charlotte’s confession is bullshit and she’s telling me all of this to gain my trust. It’d certainly be a smart move on her part.

  But I believe Charlotte. Every word.

  “How’d he take that?”

  “Predictably.”

  “I need you to be more specific.”

  “I don’t want this getting out of hand.”

  “The only thing that will escalate this is if he hurt you or threatened you.”

  “He tried scaring me by telling me how dangerous you are.”

  I snort. “I’m flattered he thinks so.”

  She bites her lip and I wonder what she’s holding back because she’s afraid I’ll get pissed and go after her uncle.

  “Listen, I’m not a hothead who’s gonna burst into his clubhouse and beat the crap out of him. You can tell me everything.” No, my methods are a lot more methodical and planned out.

  She picks up her fork and stabs it into a piece of broccoli. “That’s it.”

  “What do you want me to do?” She knows I’m asking if she wants me to have a talk with Merlin.

  Or are the two of us done?

  “I don’t need you to do anything. I told him I’m a grown-ass woman and I’ll see who I want to see.”

  I doubt Merlin heard one word of that. “If he visits again, tell me and I’ll talk to him.”

  She casts a suspicious look my way. “I can guess what you mean by that and it’s not necessary.”

  “I’m not going to kill him.” Probably.

  The fact that I said that with a straight face makes her pause.

  “Have you told your club about me?”

  “No.”

  “Not even Murphy?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  We stare at each other for a few long seconds. “You want the truth, Charlotte? I haven’t said anything because the club’s been my whole life since I was a kid and you’re something apart from that and I like it.”

  Her face falls and she glances away. “Oh.”

  “I mean it in a good way.” I reach across the table and take her hand. “You want more honesty? There’s a chance they’d ask me to see what I can find out about Merlin through you and that’s not what this is about for me.”

  “Jesus. I can’t believe you actually admitted that to me.”

  “Life’s too short for lying to people you care about.”

  As soon as I say it, I realize what a lying fucking hypocrite I am. While I may not be lying to her at the moment, it means I’m lying to everyone else.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  We had so much heavy conversation over dinner that I try for lighter talk once we move to the living room under the guise of watching a movie.

  “I’m sure you’re able to get into any pair of panties you want. Whenever you want. So why’d you come here tonight? Besides to show off your awesome cooking skills.”

  He runs his hands through is hair, his frustration heavy between us. “I wanted to see you. What I’m feeling for you is very real, Charlotte.”

  I want to understand how Marcel is so sweet with me, sweet to his sister and baby niece and still be part of an MC. The little I’ve been able to glean about his reputation is rather distasteful and seems at odds with what I’ve witnessed personally. Not that it should surprise me, my uncle isn’t known for having the most reliable relationship with the truth.

  “Why?” I ask.


  The sharp stare he gives me softens and he reaches out to run the back of his hand over my cheek. “I like you. I like being with you. I like being around you. I want to know you. Is that so hard to believe?”

  “You already know me quite well.” I wiggle my eyebrows to ease the rising tension, but it doesn’t work.

  “Not like that. Don’t do that. I mean I want to know everything about you.”

  “But why?” I’m pushing him. Even if I believe him about the friction between his club and my uncle’s has nothing to do with us, before we get more involved I want some assurance I’m more than a fun puzzle for him. That I’m not some momentary relief from club life and once he’s had a good time he’ll be on to the next.

  “Why? You want a reason why I like you?” He shakes his head. “Jesus. Why.” He rests his chin on his hand as if he’s trying to come up with a serious answer. “It feels nice.” He taps his chest and then his temple. “In here. It feels easy.”

  “Easy, huh? Even though I’m kind of a bitch to you all the time?”

  He swivels his head my way and a ferocious grin lights up his face. If I didn’t already trust him, it would be terrifying. In a smooth move, he maneuvers his big body onto the couch, pushing me down into the pillows piled at the end. “That’s my favorite part.”

  His fingers tease up underneath my shirt, then dip down under my pants, running over my underwear. Inspecting. “For example,” he whispers. “I asked you to keep that sexy shit on for me and I’ve been excited all night to find out whether you did it or not.”

  I gasp when his fingers graze the tops of my thighs. “You’re not disappointed that I took the stockings off?” I’m annoyed with myself for caring so much about the answer.

  “Nope.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband and drags my pants down my legs, tossing them on the floor. “Either way I win.”

  “Really?” I clear my throat, hoping to stop the quivering in my voice. “I thought all cavemen liked their women obedient.”

  He shakes with laughter as he slides his hands under my shirt and works it up over my head. “You’re obedient where it counts.” He uses my own word to tease me and probably to piss me off, unfortunately for both of us it only turns me on.

  “No fair. I’m mostly naked and you’re not,” I protest while sliding my hands up under his shirt.

  He sits up and strips off the shirt. “Better?”

  “Oh, yes.” I reach out and trace my fingers over the Lost Kings MC on his chest. “You love your club a lot.”

  “Yes. That’s my family. But we’re talking about you right now.”

  “We are?”

  His fingers skim up my sides, stopping to cup my breasts. He lowers himself over me, teasing my nipples through the black lace. Gentle at first. Slow enough to drive me mad, he trails his lips down my body. Stopping to lick and kiss lots of spots along the way. “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  He tips his head up, a wicked smile curving his lips. “Whatever I want.”

  “Staring at my problem areas isn’t a big turn on for me.”

  His brow wrinkles. “Problem areas? What the fuck does that mean?”

  “I could probably stand to work out a bit more,” I say, poking a finger into my leg.

  Why the hell did I say that? I’m not usually one to focus on my flaws. Or put myself down to fish for compliments. Then again, I don’t usually have men who look like Marcel study me so closely.

  He shakes his head and presses a kiss to my thigh. “I’m the only workout you need.”

  “Oh, really? How’s that?”

  “Riding my dick counts as cardio.”

  “Is that what you used to tell your clients at Furious?”

  He nuzzles my inner thigh and bites at the strip of satin between his face and my body, pulling it away from my skin then letting it go. “No. That’s what I’m telling you,” he answers, his voice gruff with desire.

  While I’m busy laughing he drags my underwear down my legs. “Hey, I need those.”

  “No, you don’t.” He tucks my underwear in his back pocket. “In a few seconds, I’m burying my tongue in your pussy.”

  “What makes you think I’ll let you do that?”

  “Because you want it as much as I do. Any more questions?”

  By the tone of his voice, I think question time is actually over. He nudges my thighs apart and my leg drops to the floor.

  “That’s nice,” he murmurs. He reaches up and slips a throw pillow from the pile underneath my head. “Lift up,” he urges, wedging the pillow under my hips. His palm lands on my inner thigh, opening me wider.

  I hold my breath, waiting for what he plans to do next.

  My eyes close the second the hot, wet velvet of his tongue slides over my sensitive skin.

  “Fuck!” My back arches, practically shoving my pussy in his face. Begging for more of his wicked tongue. Gripping my thighs tight, he holds me where he wants me, tastes me slowly, licking and taunting me. “Please, please.” I’m not even sure what I’m begging for. Everything feels good, but I still need more.

  His lips circle my throbbing clit.

  “Oh my…” I can’t finish the thought and the words trail off into a moan.

  The flat of his tongue teases over the sensitive little pleasure point and my breath catches. His grip on my legs is tight but he feathers the lightest touches to my most sensitive places.

  My hands. I don’t know what to do with them. I cover my face, moaning against my fingers. He makes a humming, encouraging sound then licks lower, pushing his tongue into me.

  I draw in another shuddering breath. Never. No one has ever given me this much pleasure or focused so intently on me before. And every. Damn. Time. He does it.

  My entire body tenses, so close to exploding. Except, I’m greedy and don’t want it to end too soon.

  Behind my head, there’s a scratching, rattling sound, but I’m too far gone for it to register.

  Marcel’s so into what he’s doing to me he doesn’t notice either.

  “Char? Oh, fuck!” The door slams shut and Marcel jumps off the couch, pulling a gun from his waistband and pointing it at the floor. “You expecting someone?”

  My brain’s spinning, trying to make sense of things. One second I was close to a really fantastic orgasm the next—

  “Do you always carry a gun?”

  “Yes.” He jerks his head toward the door. “You always have people breaking into your apartment?”

  “No.” I struggle to sit up, ignoring the wetness between my thighs.

  “It’s me, Char,” someone calls from the other side of the door.

  “It’s Carter,” I explain, struggling to wiggle into my sweatpants and T-shirt.

  “Fuck,” Teller mutters.

  My eyes land on the bulge behind his fly but he snaps his fingers, drawing my attention to his face. He nods at the hallway. “I’ll…” his voice trails off as he leaves the room.

  Running a shaky hand over my clothes, I take a few steps to the front door and open it. “Hey, bro. What’s up?” I ask a little too brightly.

  He peeks at me from between his fingers. “I need a lobotomy.”

  “Can’t help you there.” I stand back and open the door wider.

  Like the little jerk my brother can be, he makes a big show of poking his head inside my apartment and looking around before stepping over the threshold.

  “Don’t you have a bedroom?” he asks, nodding at the couch.

  “Don’t you knock? Or you know, call?”

  He waves his cell phone in my face. “I did call.”

  “Oh.” I glance around not sure where my cell phone is. “I was—”

  “Getting serviced. I know. I saw.”

  “Shut up.”

  Carter glances around, his gaze landing on the television. He fidgets and I can tell something is weighing on him. He wouldn’t have come over for no reason. Before we get into whatever it is, I want to check on Marcel. “Give me a minute, Car
ter.”

  I hurry down the hall and tap on the bathroom door. “You didn’t come down here to rub one out did you?” I ask when he pokes his head out.

  The look on Marcel’s face is priceless, but he recovers quickly. “No. I wanted to wash up. Thought it would be rude to say hello to a guy while his sister’s pussy juice is all over me.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  He grips my arm and pulls me closer. “Yeah, but you like it,” he whispers against my ear.

  Feeling brave, I press my fingertips to his chest and rise up on my tiptoes. “You’re definitely going to use that talented tongue on me some more. I didn’t quite get there.”

  He growls. A low sound I can only describe as animalistic, and squeezes my ass. “Can’t fucking wait.” He slaps my ass and nudges me out of the bathroom. “Go see what your brother needs. I’ll be there in a second.”

  Christ, if any other guy talked, touched, or bossed me around the way he does, I’d probably slice his balls off.

  Carter’s still standing by the door when I return to the living room.

  “You two didn’t just do it did you?” he asks, nodding in the direction of the bathroom.

  “No, we didn’t do it.”

  Marcel chooses that moment to saunter into the room. Shirtless. “I don’t know about you kid, but a real man needs more than two seconds to take care of his woman.”

  Did he just refer to me as his woman?

  Carter, my sweet, brave, stupid brother, crosses his arms over his chest and glares while Marcel plucks his T-shirt off the back of the couch and slips it on.

  A slight smirk tugs the corners of his mouth up as he takes in my brother’s expression. He holds his hand out. “Hey, Carter. Good to see you again.”

  My brother eyes Marcel’s outstretched hand. “I don’t know where that’s been.”

  The humor drains from Marcel’s expression. “Watch yourself.”

  Since my brother has no sense of self-preservation, I step between them. “What’s wrong, Carter?”

  His nervous gaze darts to Marcel, who doesn’t seem in a hurry to give us any privacy. He finally shrugs and focuses his attention on me. “Mom’s a bit out of control. Had some friends over. I had to get out of there.”

  My poor brother looks so damn miserable. I’d pull him in for a hug, but I don’t think he’d like me babying him in front of Marcel.