I count three. “Looks like the ayes win.” I stand, satisfied with the outcome. “Pick the security detail for Saturday,” I tell Tonsils. “Ten.”
He frowns at me. It’s not the first time we’ve voted against each other. That’s the nature of being a member of this MC. You might not always agree, but you always have your brother’s back. Right or wrong, nothing can break that sacred bond.
Chapter Thirteen
Serafina
I receive another bouquet of flowers from Eagle on Tuesday. This time it’s two dozen red roses. Red for courage and passion. That’s what he wrote in the accompanying card. I use my second pitcher for the flowers and set them out on my breakfast bar. Then I make my way to the couch and stare admiringly at both bouquets. My apartment is filled with a sweet scent. How long would it last if Caleb knew who I really was?
This note contains his cell phone number. Call me when you’re ready. Typical Eagle. Come on strong, then back off. He likes to play. So did I, especially at fifteen. I was young and wild, very pretty and knew it. I close my eyes, recalling our first meeting at the beach.
It was the annual Cajun party at Holly Beach. Hundreds of out-of-towners swarmed our little oasis every year and paid big money to taste our gumbo, drink our homemade wine, and listen to our music. I remember everything about that night like it happened yesterday.
I had my favorite red bikini on and was carrying a tray of Coronas to share with my friends. Somehow I didn’t notice the guy stretched out on a beach towel in front of me. I tripped, spilling beer all over him. Embarrassed and extremely apologetic, I scrambled to gather the bottles and then tried to wipe him off with his towel. Our hands brushed and lightning struck—the connection was instantaneous. As I was about to leave, Nathan Abshire and the Pine Grove Boys came on, playing “La Valse de Holly Beach” (the Holly Beach Waltz).
Eagle knocked everything out of my hands, tugged me into his arms, and started to dance with me. Every true Cajun knows how to waltz. And Caleb is no exception.
Tears fill my eyes. I long to go back. But we never can. The sooner I let him know, the better. I walk into the kitchen and grab my cell. I’ve already memorized his number. Reluctantly, I dial and wait for him to answer. He does on the fourth ring.
“Serafina?”
“Hi, Eagle.”
I can hear him smile. “How are you?”
“Good. Thank you for the beautiful flowers.”
“You’re welcome.”
There’s a pause but it’s not awkward. We’re both formulating what to say next. Even though he thinks I’m someone else, we’re still connected. Time and distance can’t change what nature has already dictated.
“I-I can’t do this, Eagle . . .” I’m tripping over my own tongue. I know what I need to say, but just can’t make myself do it. If I do, I’ll never see him again. Never hear his beautiful, deep voice again. I went without for so long. And now . . . God help me. I’m not ready to spend another six years wondering where he’s at and what he’s doing. Who he’s with. What girl he’s falling in love with. My hands start to tremble.
“Do what, darlin’?” he asks.
“This.”
“Explain what this means.”
“You.”
He chuckles. “I don’t remember asking you to do me yet.”
His play on words is impossible to ignore. I laugh out loud, although the thought of making love with him is bittersweet. “You’re incorrigible.”
“What’s that make you?”
“Hopeless.”
“I like hopeless,” he says sadly. “We match.”
“Do we?”
“I want to see you again, Serafina. I want to kiss your hot little mouth and touch you all over.”
That’s tame sex talk for Eagle. He’s trying to be a gentleman. “I called to let you know there’s no room in my life for a man.”
“I don’t believe you, Serafina.”
“You need to.”
“Are you into women?”
I roll my eyes. “No.”
“I am.”
I laugh again. “Should I be happy for you?”
“Only if you agree to meet me somewhere Thursday night.”
“I can’t. Between school and work . . .”
“Unless you take summer classes, pretty sure you’re off. Quit screwing around, woman. I know you want me.” Always so confident and arrogant on the outside, but underneath, where it matters most, I know there’s a tender spot.
“Maybe I’m not interested in you, Eagle. Maybe I’m just trying to blow you off without being a bitch about it.”
Expecting to hear him laugh, I’m shocked when all I get is silence. Did I hurt his feelings?
“I’ll book you for the night, Serafina. Then you won’t have a choice. I’ll be an official customer.” I hear the disapproval in his voice. “You’ll strip for me, no one else. Those tits and ass will belong to me. And I promise, once you’ve had a taste, you won’t be able to forget me.”
I close my eyes, turned on by the hint of possessiveness in his voice. Turned on by what I already know he can do. My hands slide to my breasts, wishing his hands were all over me. I let out a tiny moan.
“What are you doing, baby? Thinking about what it would be like?” He breathes heavily into the phone. “You can’t run away from it, Serafina. It will always be there, a persistent need to find out what it would be like—me pumping inside of you, my hands all over you—my tongue . . .”
“Okay!”
“Okay, what?” he asks in a low, predatory tone.
“I want you.”
He chuckles. “I’ll make that call to your boss, then.”
God, no! I only work on the weekends, so if Eagle calls Ben and tries to schedule a Thursday night party, it’ll spark all kinds of questions. I know it’s risky, but if we meet somewhere neutral, perhaps I can get away with seeing him one more time. No one needs to know. Just me and Eagle. A last chance to kiss him. To . . . “I don’t want to see you as a dancer, Eagle.”
“Good. Because I want to fuck you, Serafina. I’m not going to lie.”
Those sexy words burn holes in my heart. I want him. I need him. I miss him. “Where?” I’m on fire, the ache between my legs as real as the desperation in Eagle’s voice. When he says he wants to fuck me, I’m no longer thinking as Serafina, but as Angel.
“Have you spent any time in Shreveport?”
“I’ve done a few parties there.”
“I have a cabin on the Red River. It’s not too hard to find. Are you willing to drive there on Thursday afternoon?”
Is a seventy-mile drive worth seeing him again? Is giving up my sanity worth one night with Eagle? “Yes.”
“After we hang up, I want you to do two things for me. Okay?”
“I-I’ll try.” I’m losing it.
“First, check your email for directions to the cabin. You can’t tell anyone where it’s at. I use it as a safehouse for the club.”
“I won’t.”
“Then I want you to take a selfie for me. Let me see you in one of the skimpy outfits you dance in. I need a visual to make it to Thursday. Can you do that for me?”
At this point, I’ll do just about anything to make him happy. “Yeah.”
“Good girl.”
“Goodbye, Eagle.”
“Wait!”
“Did I miss something?”
“Bring some jeans and boots Thursday. We’re going for a ride.”
I disconnect, my heart and mind on totally different frequencies. I can do this. I can keep my true identity a secret. I can sleep with Eagle once and then force him out of my life forever. I deserve to be happy for a day. I deserve to know what I missed all those years ago. I deserve Eagle and I plan on having him.
Chapter Fourteen
Eagle
Three hours later my cell pings and I slide out from underneath the Camaro I’m working on. I wipe my hands on the towel hanging from my waist and then get up, walk the
few feet to my tool box and grab my phone. There’s three messages from Serafina, all with attachments. I open the first. She’s wearing a light blue bikini, and she’s got angel wings on her back and a silver halo on her head. I laugh. Must be from her work catalogue. I was hoping for something new, a picture meant for my eyes only.
I open the next file. Fuck. She’s topless, but her arms are crossed over her chest, squeezing her tits together. It’s a profile shot and her beautiful mouth is parted. My gaze follows the curve of her body, her perfect stomach and thighs, all the way down to her five-inch fuck-me heels. Beautiful. Innocent in some ways, blatantly sexual in others.
I rake my fingers through my hair, my cock standing at full attention. Why didn’t I ask her to meet me tonight? I slip out of my coveralls, grab my wallet, and head for my house—saving the third attachment for when I’m alone.
My home is a typical Holly Beach elevated stilt house, rebuilt after the last storm. Reinforced by concrete and designed to withstand flooding or any other natural disaster, it’s more like a bunker. I climb the two flights of stairs to get to the observation deck where my front door is located. The water is right across the street and I turn around for a quick peek. It’s warm and overcast, and after all the years I’ve lived here, I never grow tired of seeing the Gulf of Mexico and the outline of the fishing boats in the distance.
I unlock my door and step inside. The main area has a vaulted ceiling, thick beams, and skylights. The kitchen, dining room, and living room are wide open. Windows line the south-facing wall.
I kick my boots off and head to my bedroom, eager to see the last picture. Stripping off my cut, T-shirt, socks, and jeans, I lean against the doorframe of the en suite bathroom, navigating through my texts. I open Serafina’s last attachment. This one is different. She’s curled up on her bed and wearing a pair of white panties. The scrap of fabric covering that perfect pussy is smaller than a Wheat Thin.
I swallow, admiring the matching lace bra that’s two sizes too small for her luscious breasts. She’s holding a notecard and I squint to read it: FUCK ME, EAGLE.
I groan. She’s killing me. I reply immediately.
Coming over now. Be ready.
What???
I grin: it only took three seconds for her to answer. Need to feel you, Baby. Want to be inside you.
Did you like the photos?
I’m naked and getting ready to take a hot shower and masturbate. What do you think?
OMG.
Don’t believe me?
I believe you, Eagle.
You’re beautiful, Serafina.
So are you.
My first thought is to video chat with her and let her watch me jack off. Not sure if she’s into it though. I set the cell on the bathroom vanity and go to my walk-in shower, big enough for five linebackers to fit in. I turn on multiple sprayers and turn the music up. There’s nothing like Black Sabbath; Ozzy belting out “Dirty Women.”
Steam rolls over me and I let the water cascade down my head and shoulders, picturing Serafina in my bed, wearing her little white panties that I want to rip off with my teeth. I fantasize about the diamond studs in her nipples and the matching belly-button ring. The way she shakes her tight little ass—her well-defined thighs and those calves. Nothing turns me on more than the way a woman’s calves pop in a pair of heels.
I grip my cock and start out slow—my hand sliding up and down. I visualize my fingers tangled in her long dark curls, holding her while I kiss and fuck her. Lick and bite my way down her body. Even her voice gets me hot. It has a rasp to it, not one of those high-pitched ones that could shatter a beer bottle.
I lather some soap on my hand and squeeze my dick harder than before. I throw my head back and close my eyes. “Serafina,” I whisper. “Drop-dead gorgeous, fucking Italian perfection.”
Serafina
At first I didn’t believe Eagle was about to get into the shower and masturbate. But my phone has gone silent. I’ve texted him a couple more times over the last fifteen minutes and there’s no answer. The idea of him getting off while he’s thinking about me is so hot. I can almost feel his lips on mine and smell him. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was standing behind me.
Instant goose bumps.
I stretch out on my bed, still wearing the same underwear and bra I took the picture of myself in. I’ve never done that before, shared such an intimate shot with a man. Sure, my boss keeps an online catalogue of all of his dancers available for the public, but we’re in costumes.
My eyes start to get heavy, but my cell rings before I fall asleep. I reach for my phone on the nightstand and check caller ID. Its Eagle. Should I answer?
“Hello?” I ask.
“My shower didn’t take long.”
“Who is this?”
He growls. “Expecting a call from another man, Serafina? I don’t share.”
“Neither do I,” I confess. Not until after Thursday.
“I need you to know how hard this is . . .” His deep voice trails off. “Waiting. I’m not a patient man—not even a nice one. When I see something I want, I take it.”
“Is that what I am? An object?”
“You know what I meant.”
“Did you come?” I cover my mouth with one hand, shocked I’m being so blunt. Only with Eagle. His dirty talk always made me feel bolder than I truly was.
“All over your tits.”
My nipples go instantly hard. I stare up at the ceiling, tempted to touch myself while we’re talking on the phone. But if I do, I’ll want him to keep talking dirty to me. “You came in your hand.” I laugh.
“Gotta work with what I have. Right?”
“Pretty sure you can snap your fingers and get whatever girl you want.” A fact I had to live with when we were together. Not that Eagle ever did anything to make me jealous, but girls were just naturally attracted to him. And since he’s even better looking now, I know he hasn’t lived the life of a monk.
“Ditto,” he says with humor in his voice. “You must beat the men off with sticks.”
He’s so wrong . . . “I’ve never . . . it’s been a long time for me.”
“How long, baby?”
“Years.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all. Reminding myself of the life I’ve been deprived of is really depressing.
“That’s a long time, Serafina. Why don’t you let me take care of that little problem?”
Always the problem solver. I roll my eyes and can’t hold back the snort. “Thanks for the offer, Eagle.”
“What the fuck?” He laughs. “Are you turning me down?”
All joking aside, I open up a little, letting him get a taste of how serious I am. “I don’t put myself in situations where men have a chance to get too close. I’m very dedicated to my education.”
“How’d you end up working as a stripper, then? Just doesn’t seem to fit your personality type.”
I give him the basic details, sharing about how my boss tricked me into signing the contract before I knew he owned a striptease company instead of a lingerie modeling business.
“That sonofabitch lied to you?”
“More like manipulated me.”
“I can fix it with one phone call, Serafina.”
I consider it for a split second, imagining Eagle and a couple of the brothers showing up at my boss’s plush downtown office with baseball bats in their hands, ready to convince him to cancel my contract. Only in my fantasy world though. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a big girl, Eagle.”
“Not as big and badass as you think.”
“Tougher than most.” Because I have to be, not because I want to. I sit down in the closest chair, wondering where we’d be right now if I’d never staged my own death. Would we be married with kids, living that happily-ever-after? Or divorced and hating each other?
“Maybe. But you shouldn’t have to be.”
“Thought you were a stone-cold one percenter.”
>
“There’s a heart buried somewhere underneath my leather.”
I chuckle. “Hope I find it on Thursday.”
“That’s one thing we should talk about.” His tone changes.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No. I want to tell you something up front, Serafina. If we do this, not sure how far it will go. I have some serious emotional baggage. Nothing I can’t work through, but it’s going to take a special woman to understand it, and to accept the kind of life I live.”
Part of me is thrilled he still loves me—Angel, I mean. But I’m also happy he seems open to moving on. Eagle doesn’t take relationships lightly. If his heart is in it, it’s all or nothing. “ I do understand. I have a shitty past, too.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds. “Like I said before, we match.”
“More than you’ll ever know, Eagle. Good night.” See you in my dreams and then on Thursday.
Chapter Fifteen
Eagle
The Iron Norsemen spend every Wednesday night at The Cajun. It’s been a tradition for the last ten years. The old ladies put out quite the spread: gumbo, jambalaya, and all-you-can-eat crawfish. We split the profits with my aunt. All the money the MC raises gets added to the widows fund to support the families of deceased members.
I carry the last of the aluminum hot plates inside and set it up on the buffet bar, then plug it in. There’s a flurry of activity between the kitchen and the bar area. The girls are busy making everything look nice. Its six o’clock already, but the crowd doesn’t usually get here until seven. After I finish helping, I stalk over to my regular table on the far side of the room.
The Cajun is your typical beach bar, the wood walls decorated with bras from women who’ve gotten drunk enough to shed their tops and give us a look at their tits. Aunt Birdie always rewards them with a fifty-dollar bar tab. We even have an international VIP wall, where women from Italy, Brazil, Spain, Ireland, and Japan have added to the collection. There’s two pool tables, a classic pinball machine, an electronic dart board, and an outdoor patio. We refinished the concrete floor last year and added two floor drains.
One Taste of Angel Page 8
