Slow Burn

by Autumn Jones Lake

  "Hope, you okay?"

  "Leg cramp…still coming."

  How fucking absurd was this moment? The pleasure subsides, giving way to the torturous tightening in my calf.

  "Stand up, baby."

  He helps me dismount and stand, but I still can’t straighten my leg. Rock leans over, kneading my calf muscles and urging me to put my weight on the leg. When it finally stops hurting, I burst into hysterical giggles and tears.

  "Are you okay?"

  I collapse on the couch next to him and flex my foot a few times. "I think so. My God, that’s never happened to me before."

  He strokes my legs a little longer, then pushes off the couch. "Let me get you some water. I’ll be right back." His fingers skim over my cheek before he strides into the kitchen.

  He returns, jeans zipped but shirt still thankfully off, and hands me a glass of water. The couch cushions roll under his weight as he settles down beside me. The water cools my throat—I hadn’t realized how scratchy it felt. When I’m done, I set the glass on the end table behind me. Rock’s watching me intently.

  "Better?"

  "Yes, thank you." It dawns on me that I’m completely naked and don’t care.

  "Come here." Rock reaches out and tugs my hand. I don’t hesitate to crawl into his lap. Sitting sideways, I loop my arms around his shoulders and kiss his unbruised cheek. His arms anchor me to his lap, his thumb stroking a restless pattern over my hip. The bruising on his face looks worse.

  "Let me get ice for that," I offer, scooting off his lap. Heavy footsteps follow me into the kitchen. "I would have brought it to you," I tell him without turning around.

  "It’s okay. I don’t want you out of my sight."

  My lips curve up in a shy smile. I pull out the freezer drawer, searching for ice, frozen peas…something. I finally find some frozen broccoli. Better than nothing. I glance over at Rock, who’s unlacing his boots by the door. A little thrill shoots through me, as I interpret the act as his intention to stick around. His worn jeans are loose but still give a hint of the firm ass underneath. I have the insane urge to run over and squeeze him. Instead, I find a kitchen towel to wrap around the bag. When I turn around, Rock is right behind me, and I let out a soft squeak.

  "You’re so stealthy without the boots," I remark.

  His lips turn up in a grin that quickly turns to a grimace. Gently, I press the freezing package to his face.

  "Are you going to tell me what happened now?"

  "No," he answers simply.

  He takes the bag from my hand, but keeps it pressed to his face.

  I tamp down my fury. We just had this explosive sex, and he’s been nothing but sweet to me since he got here. We don’t know each other well enough that I’m ready to unleash all my inner bitchiness on him, but I’m pissed that he’s being so cryptic.

  My face must betray my anger, because Rock reaches out and traces a finger over my cheek, down my neck, and along my collarbone. His touch sends shivers over my skin, and my nipples tighten in response. Just like that, my rage disappears. I can’t contemplate the effect he has on me right now. Spotting my clothes on the counter behind Rock, I cross the kitchen and jerk them into my hands.

  "Hey, don’t cover that sexy body."

  I snort in response. Cold hands curl over my shoulders and turn me around. "Think we can grab a quick shower?"

  "Yeah, of course."

  He sets the towel on the counter and places the vegetables back in the freezer. Something profound glitters in his eyes as he holds out his hand to me. I take it and lead him into the hall bathroom. I’m not sure why I don’t take him into the master bath in my bedroom. I’m not ready to have him in the space that Clay and I shared. In fact, guilt over how we defiled my couch starts to poke at me. Clay and I saved for a year to buy that couch and never once had sex on it. I’m not sure what to make of that.

  Shame washes over me.

  Rock presses his hands to my cheeks, capturing my attention. "You with me, Hope?"

  "Yeah."

  "Got any towels?"

  I turn my head, realizing I haven’t set foot in this bathroom in more than a year. I’ve had a cleaning person come into the house a couple times, but there’s still a thin layer of dust over some of the fixtures. I open the small closet behind me and pull out two fluffy towels, setting them on the edge of the sink.

  Rock pulls back the shower curtain, and I bite my lip. Clay’s favorite shampoo and body wash are lined up on the shallow shelf. How could I be so stupid? There’s a reason I never set foot in here. This was Clay’s bathroom. Since he went to work earlier and didn’t want to wake me, he always showered and dressed down here instead of the master bathroom. I’m not sure how to stop this madness brewing inside of me, or how to express to Rock how much I don’t want to be in here.

  As he waits for the water temperature to adjust, he shucks his jeans. The ass I wanted to grab a few minutes ago is well within my reach, but I can’t do anything about it. My eyes drift up and widen as I take in the full back tattoo. It’s an urban jungle scene featuring a vibrant skull wearing a crown. "Lost Kings MC" curves underneath the scene.

  "That’s really beautiful," I whisper.

  Rock twists his torso. "That’s right. You have some exploring to do."

  My gaze darts up and down his body until he steps into the shower. He holds the curtain open, beckoning me toward him. I poke my head in the closet and grab a hair tie. Twisting my freshly styled hair into a knot, I join Rock in the shower.

  "Why the pirate ship?" I ask when he turns to face me. His body blocks most of the water spray, so I’m relatively dry where I am.

  "MCs are like modern day pirates. At least to me they are."

  I’m not sure what to make of that. Reddened, bruised skin along his upper chest catches my eye, but I’m not going to ask any more questions. Not when the scent of Clay’s shower gel is filling the space between us. Tears blur my vision.

  "Hope, are you okay?"

  "Yeah, I’m just a little tired."

  "Go ahead and get out, baby. I’ll be done in a sec."

  Relieved, I get out and wrap a towel around myself, sit down on the closed toilet seat, and let the tears roll silently down my face.

  Something happened the minute we walked into the bathroom. Everything about Hope changed. None of the sexy shower games I’d been planning seemed right. I glanced at the bottle of Dove for Men I held in my hand and bit back a curse. I’d been so relieved she hadn’t taken me into her bedroom. It never occurred to me her husband might have used this shower. I want to punch myself for not being more sensitive.

  In my heart, she’s already my girl, but, I have no idea how she’s processing everything. Besides her permanently in my life, I have no other wants. I need her in my arms, on my skin, in my bed, on my bike every second of every day. I have no idea if she feels the same.

  Pushing her away in the kitchen probably didn’t help. Hope’s not like other women. She’s not going to accept non-answers from me without pushing for more. Even though she's not quite back to the sharp-tongued lawyer she was when we first met, eventually that side of her personality will return. When I come home beat to fuck, she will demand to know why every single time. Her clever mind and caring heart are what I like and admire most about her, so it's completely unfair for me to hold the truth back.

  From what I knew, guys either told their old ladies everything or nothing. Bits and pieces of the truth only caused problems. Hope would be the kind of old lady I would have to tell everything to. She would accept nothing less. What I didn’t know was if she could accept me. All of me. Who I was and what I did. Hell, the day we met, I was in handcuffs and shackles, but here we are. I'm not stupid enough to think she’s forgotten about our first encounter. I finally have my shot with her. Now I need to reconcile the Hope I’d built up in my fantasies with the Hope in my reality. So far, real Hope surpasses dream Hope in every way.

  Soft sniffling reaches my ears, and I snap the shower
off. Pulling back the curtain, I find her huddled on the toilet seat with a towel wrapped around her. Without looking in my direction, she grabs the remaining towel off the sink and hands it to me.

  I start rubbing the towel over my face and wince when I get to my cheek. "You up for a late-night drive?" I don’t know what else to do except get her out of this house.

  She sniffles one last time and focuses her eyes on me. "Sure."

  "You got a backpack?"

  Her brows squinch together, and she purses her lips in that cute way she does when she’s considering something. "I think so, why?"

  "Pack some clothes—I want to take you back to my house."

  A hesitant little pause.

  "Okay." She stands, tugging the towel around her tighter. I step out of the tub and put my hands on her hips.

  She reaches up and brushes her lips against mine before leaving. The minute the door closes behind her, I let out a sigh of relief. I’ve got to get us away from all the grief surrounding this place.

  Hope’s mood improves once we leave her house. My instincts were right to get her out of there. To get us away from whatever ghosts she’s wrangling with. Anytime I’m on my bike, my mindset improves. It’s the freest feeling in the world. Having Hope at my back makes it perfection.

  We didn’t discuss whatever happened back there. I didn’t bring up the fact that she’d obviously been crying, and she didn’t offer any explanations. She met me in the hallway dressed in jeans, a pair of sexy-ass boots that hugged the curves of her calves and ended just below her knees, and one of my hoodies. A bursting-at-the-seams backpack dangled from her hands. Looks like she packed a lot in there. Quite honestly, I was prepared to rent a U-Haul and bring every last one of her belongings to my house right this second. The only thing that unnerved me about that scenario was how little the inclination bothered me.

  We wind our way into the city. My house is only a few blocks from Crystal Ball. It sits in a nicer part of the city, but isn't anything fancy—a small, brick bungalow with a wide stone front porch. I’d fenced the entire lot in. Pressing a small button on my keys swings the gates open. They click closed behind us once we are safely inside. Motion-sensor lights flicker to life, illuminating the wide driveway and extra large garage I’d installed a year after buying the place. A sophisticated alarm system protects the garage as well as the house. Between tools, bikes, and parts, I actually have more of value in the garage than in my entire house. Although I want to show her my personal workspace some day, right now I want to get her inside.

  I haven’t been to my house in a few days, and although I left it tidy, it’s a bit stuffy.

  Hope stands in my mudroom, watching me toe off my boots. Her hands fidget with the backpack, so I ease it from her shoulders and take her hand.

  "You want a tour?"

  She tips her head up, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Sure."

  The first room we enter is the kitchen, and she stops in her tracks. "My goodness."

  My lips quirk at the awe in her voice. The kitchen isn’t large by any standard, but it’s ample enough. I had wide granite counters and top-of-the-line appliances installed, because when the mood strikes me, I enjoy cooking. There hasn’t been anyone I wanted to cook for in a very long time now. My favorite part of the kitchen is the built-in corner booth and table. It’s nestled into a large bay window and can seat eight. Most mornings when I’m actually here, I end up eating perched on one of the bar stools lining the island counter.

  "It’s lovely," she finally says.

  "I’ll whip up a nice breakfast for you in the morning."

  "The big, bad biker cooks?"

  "The big, bad biker does lots of things," I correct.

  I tug her into the living room. Typical single guy room. Even though I hardly watch television, there’s a large screen against one wall. A leather sectional takes up the opposite side. We pass a half bath. The guest room is really just more storage space for bike parts. I lead her upstairs. My bedroom is very similar to the one at the club. Hope stifles a yawn as she crosses the threshold, and a bit of guilt pricks me. I’m used to being up all hours of the night, but clearly she’s not. While I’m all keyed up, she looks like she’s ready to keel over.

  "Come ‘ere, doll."

  I sit on the edge of the bed and pull her to me. Reaching for her boots, I pull the side zipper slowly down her leg. One warm hand braces against my shoulder while I help her out of the boots. Barefoot in her tight jeans and my over-sized hoodie, she appears much younger and very fragile. The certainty that I am made to take care of this woman punches me in the gut.

  "Did you bring that sexy little outfit to sleep in?"

  "No." A shy smile plays over her lush lips.

  "Hmmm, what are you planning to sleep in, then?"

  Her gaze drops to the floor. Her timid act isn’t an act at all. She really is very reserved. When she doesn’t answer, I lift the hoodie up, pulling it over her head. Underneath, she’s wearing a pale blue tank top, and it’s clear she didn’t bother with a bra. Saliva pools on my tongue.

  "I can sleep in this," she murmurs.

  Yes—yes, she can. Or nothing at all.

  I reach for the button of her jeans, then help her peel the material off her legs. She has these bright blue boy-cut cotton panties on. It’s a lot more material than I usually prefer in a woman’s underwear, but they suit Hope. Without thinking, I reach out and trace my fingers along her hip bones. She recoils.

  "I didn’t realize how much weight I’d lost," she whispers.

  "You’ve had a hard year, Hope, but you’re beautiful no matter what."

  I stand and pull her to me. The way she melts in my arms stirs something in me. More than just my cock, although he is also ready to come out and play. I reach down and pull the covers back. "Go ahead and get in. I’m going to lock up and shut the lights off."

  Obediently she crawls into my bed and snuggles down under the blankets. I rush through my nightly routine, eager to get back to my girl. The sound of her breathing tells me she’s already asleep when I return. I strip everything off in the dark and get in next to her. Happy and content are inadequate words to describe my state of mind.

  Staring at the ceiling, I think about how many times in the last two years I fantasized about having her in my bed just like this. It’s similar to how I felt as a kid every year before Christmas, except instead of being disappointed when that fat, jolly bastard skipped my house, this time I have everything I want. I roll over and pull her to me. She sighs and wriggles against me. It’s a long time before I can fall asleep.

  All night I dream about Hope, even though I’m holding her in my arms. Before I’m fully awake, it registers that my hand is in her panties and I’m stroking the smooth skin of her freshly waxed mound. She sighs and turns slightly, spreading her legs. My eyes snap open. It’s still darkish in my bedroom. My fingers trace lower, slipping in the moisture I find. Fuck. My middle finger slides in between her folds and presses into her pussy. I marvel that I ever fit my cock in her—she’s so damn tight. My head falls against her chest. Her plump nipples are standing up straight under her thin tank top. I take one between my teeth and tease it with my tongue through the material. A sharp intake of breath above tells me she’s finally awake.

  "Rock?" she asks, her voice groggy.

  "Yeah, baby. Stay right there." Pulling my hand away from her is excruciating, especially when she arches her back at the loss of my fingers inside her. I roll to the side and snatch a condom out of my nightstand. She tries to turn and face me, but I hold her in place with one arm, while rolling on the condom with my other hand. Mercifully, she wriggles out of her panties, and I strip off her tank top. We’re nothing but hot skin on skin. My leg sneaks between hers, and I pull her thigh over mine, opening her wide. "Stay like that."

  "Yes," she breathes.

  I line up and sink into her from behind. My hand covers her, my fingers finding her clit and drawing slow circles arou
nd it. She moans in response and starts thrusting back against me. My other arm is trapped beneath her, but my hand finds her nipple and rolls it between my fingers until she’s thrashing against me. My assault on her clit is relentless until she jerks in my arms. Her head is thrown back, mouth open, and she’s strangling my cock while she comes. I bring my hand to her chin and turn her head so I can take her mouth. She kisses me back with such force, I’m gone. I push her onto her stomach, throwing the pillows out of the way as we roll. It’s still not enough. I grip her hips and pull her to her knees. Her shoulders press into the mattress.

  "Up, baby, I want to see your tits swing."

  She gives me the oddest look over her shoulder, but complies. Fuck, she’s so fucking hot on all fours just for me that I just pound into her like a mad man.

  "Fuck. Can’t get enough. You’re so fucking hot like this." My hands curl over her shoulders as I keep fucking her. She’s screaming and panting and jerking in my grasp. Her pussy clamps around me, sending me over the edge. Gone.

  Just fucking gone.

  After, she snuggles into my side. It’s like our bodies are made for each other. She presses these tender little kisses against my face and neck. The sweetness of this woman is going to be my undoing.

  "Thank you for knowing I needed to get out of my house and bringing me here," she whispers between kisses.

  My arm is curled around her back and my hand spread over her hip. I glance down at her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "Do you want to hear it?"

  "I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t."

  She seems to consider that for a minute before speaking.

  "You said this could be whatever I wanted. But, I have to know. Or I think you should know. I can’t be. I can’t do casual hookups. If that’s all this is for you, please just tell me now before…" She stops her stumbling little speech and buries her head in my side. "I’m sorry," she mumbles against my skin.

  "Baby, look at me."

  When she finally does, I continue. "This isn’t casual for me." I want to say more. I want to tell her that I decided a year ago she would be mine and I haven’t even looked at another woman since, but I realize that’s going to sound a little crazy and stalkerish, so I swallow that admission down.