At the front door, they paid a little fee to see the show and then entered the moodily lit reverence of the gallery. Wooden floors gleamed, and stark, industrial chic walls bore sparse yet haunted images, a collection of trauma artwork from various artists.
Bo looked around, clearing his throat. She slung an arm around his waist, grinning like a fool.
“Pretty cool, huh?” They walked forward slowly.
“Yeah.” His voice sounded unsure. She’d known he’d be uncomfortable here. But he’d get broken in. All in time.
“This is your first art showing, isn’t it?” She picked up a sparkling drink being offered by a waiter? She almost took a sip—a reflex from so many years of being able to drink without thinking twice of it—but then offered it to Bo. “Look, you even get free drinks.”
He eyed the sparkling beverage with an arched brow. “This looks like fairy piss.”
She laughed. “And maybe it is. Come here, let’s look.” She tugged him toward the first piece, a black and white piece done mostly with paint splatters titled “The Horror”. She gazed at it a long time before turning to Bo. “What do you think?”
He squinted at it. He was trying, at least. “I like it, but I don’t know why.”
“Good. Very good.” She nodded, pulling him to the next piece. “And this one?”
They stood in quiet reverence, absorbing the jagged lines that suggested either a couple turning away from each other, or the tortured lines of the artists’ mind, depending on how she looked at it.
“Hmm.” Bo took another sip of the fairy piss. “I like them both. But this one looks like it would fit in with your studio.”
She nodded, excitement burbling inside her. So you could teach a hardened biker dog new tricks. “I think you’re right. You’ve got an eye.”
“I don’t know about that.” Bo cocked a grin.
They spent some time drifting between paintings, where Dakota commented and questioned as much as she good. Bo was up for the challenge, too—after enough fairy piss and paintings, he was babbling like an old pro about the pieces. More proof to her that this life they shared could be even more amazing and dreamlike than she’d ever imagined possible. It’s time for the news.
The next round of paintings had a sexier edge, something darkly erotic—writhing bodies, contorted faces, blatantly engorged genitalia. Visceral and primal, while somehow elegant. They looked at these pieces with raised eyebrows and secret glances.
After they’d checked out most of the paintings, Dakota drew him down a dark hallway, which led to a patio out back. Conversation grew louder as they approached the brick-lined patio, twinkle lights reaching them. She paused in the doorway, surveying the scene. Lots of finely-dressed people with angular haircuts and perfectly-applied faces. And they were just another two more of them, though on the darker end of that scale.
“What’s down here?” Bo jerked his head toward another hallway, leading along the edge of the building. She followed him down it, peeking around the corner expectantly, like two kids trying to discover a secret passage.
“Oooh.” It seemed mostly dark and untended, like an unused part of the studio. Bo’s warm hands crested her hips, his breath at her ear.
“This seems like a good time for a break,” Bo whispered, his strong hands appearing under her ass cheeks. A moment later she was hoisted against the wall, his groin pressed against hers. She giggled, hooking her arms around his neck, while he ground himself against her. “You want to, here?”
“Mmm.” He nibbled at her earlobe. “Between the ride over here and all that weird sexy shit inside, I’m dying for it.” The ridge of his cock pressed through the thin fabric of her pants, right against her clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. This was his favorite position, and she could hardly complain that the man was crazy enough about her to want it in a dark hallway in the Santa Monica gallery.
“We should be quick,” she whispered as he fiddled with the button on his jeans. He lowered her for a moment, tugging her leggings down, then hoisted her again with ease. His hot cockhead immediately sought entrance, slipping along the folds of her pussy. She inhaled sharply, arching herself toward him.
“All that sexy stuff turned me on,” Bo said, grunting as he lined himself up. “But you’re the sexiest part about this place.” He eased himself in slowly, a shuddery sigh escaping him. “You turn me on always, darlin’. No matter what.”
She bit back a moan as he rocked against her, the heat of him sinking into her, mingling with the scent of him, a heady mixture of leather and outdoors.
“I love you Bo,” she whispered, clenching around him, loving how he could always take her in just the right way, reaching just the right spot. That sensitive, furtive spot inside, a place she’d thought she’d have to bury permanently. But then Bo came along, filling her up, showing her it was okay to share the spot with someone else.
And he would take good care of it…care of her . Something about this trip to the art gallery solidified that for her. Not only was he her hero, but he was in for the long haul at her side. To try new things that weren’t his forte. To go places with her that he wouldn’t go on his own. Tears pressed against her eyes as he thrust into her, the passion and emotion spiraling upward into a cacophony of pleasure. Her ears rang as he breathed into her ear.
“I love you, Dakota.” His voice came out achingly tender at her ear, like the words came from the deepest part of him. “I’ll love you forever.”
She clutched at the front of his shirt, biting back moans as he pumped her harder, faster, the quiet of their dark corner broken only by their breathy gasps and the wet slaps of skin. After a few more moments, the pace picked up, which meant he was close. And just in time—she knotted her fist in his shirt, nearly ripping it off his chest, as she came, hot rolling waves of orgasm that spread through her cells as she received every last drop of his passion.
He slowed, breathing jagged against her neck. “Fuck.”
“I know, babe.” She dragged her fingernails up and down the back of his neck, eyes drifting lazily shut. He knew how to make her feel good. Even in the most unlikely places.
He breathed against her neck for a few moments, his breath coming out moist against her skin. “I want to marry you, Dakota.”
The words hit her like a stun gun. She tensed her thighs around him, hesitant to believe she’d actually heard them. And before sharing her own news, no less. “What?”
“I know it might be soon, but I already know.” He skipped kisses over her jawline. “I want you as my old lady.”
Tears pressed against her throat and she buried her face in his shoulder, a muffled cry escaping her. “Yes, Bo. Fucking of course.”
His chest heaved with a laugh and after a bit he slid her to the ground, her feet meeting the floor shakily. They pulled up their pants, smoothing everything down and back into place, grinning like idiots at each other.
“I was worried about asking you,” Bo said in a timid voice, which was unlike him. “Thought it might be too soon.”
“It’s not too soon, babe.” She stroked his cheek with her thumb, eyes filling with tears as she prepared herself to up the ante. “In fact, it’s just right. I had something to tell you.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “What is it?”
“I’m pregnant.”
His lips stilled at her forehead. For a moment, all she could hear was his quiet breathing. Finally, he pulled back, searching out her gaze.
“Are you serious?”
She nodded, swallowing a knot of emotion. “My period is late. And I’m never late…”
“Dakota.” His voice had transformed into something soft, reverent. “Holy shit. This is amazing.”
A grin spread across her face. “Yeah? You think so?”
“Of course.” He smashed his lips against hers. “We’re gonna be parents.” He laughed. “This is fucking. We’ve got so much to celebrate.”
She giggled, wrapping her arms around hi
s waist, cinching him tight against her. “Well let’s go out there and start celebrating. You’ll be getting drunk for the both of us for awhile.”
As they strolled down the hall hand in hand, they grinned at each other. They pushed through the silky strips dangling in the doorway to the patio, and soft white light enveloped them in the bush-lined patio. Easy chatter filled the air and another waiter drifted by with sparkling drinks on his platter. Dakota snagged another one and handed it to Bo, lifting her eyebrows as he took a sip.
“Well, darlin’.” Bo nudged her hip with his, hands buried in his pockets. “You shouldn’t put this off any longer. Time to find the owner.”
She nodded, anxiety streaking through her. She’d been communicating with the owner since about two weeks ago, when they’d found out about Dakota’s private artwork through a friend of a friend. Coming here would seal the deal to get her art included in the gallery—and be the first major step to starting her art career, outside of the tattoo studio.
“I’m just nervous,” she said, tucking hair behind her ear. “I like living in this bubble of waiting to meet her…because right now, she hasn’t told me no and crushed my dreams.” She laughed a little. “No matter how silly that sounds.”
“There’s no way she’s gonna crush your dreams, darlin’,” Bo said, stepping closer, snagging her at the waist. “Your dreams can’t be crushed.”
Dakota grinned up at him, bringing her fingers over his cheek. “You know exactly how to woo a lady, did you know that?”
“Oh yeah? You’re talking about what we did in the hallway, aren’t you?” His eyes twinkled dark.
“Sure. Though we shouldn’t tell the owner how we defiled her back hallway.” She laughed, swatting at his chest. “No, I mean you’re amazing. You are so supportive. You believe in me. And that means more than I can ever explain.”
Tenderness seared through her and she wanted to crumble into pieces from loving him, for discovering the most unexpected truth: that this man, who seemed so unthinkably different, could end up being so unspeakably right for her. And their unborn baby.
“How could I not, Dakota?” He brushed his thumb over her cheek, his expression growing serious. “You’re the most important person in my world. You’re the light in my underworld. And my only mission in life is to make sure that light never burns out.” He grabbed her hand, bringing his lips to the back of it. “And I’ll spend my entire life honoring that promise.”
Tears clogged her throat and she smiled up at him. “So you want to make me cry before I meet the owner?”
“Maybe a little,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her temple. “But mostly just want to remind you how awesome you are.” He squeezed her ass cheek, eyes set on something over her shoulder. “There she is. Now go get ‘em, darlin’.”
He pressed a kiss to her lips and then sent her on her way. Dakota floated forward toward the owner, buoyed by Bo’s confidence, floating on the power of his kiss, and more settled than she’d imagined possible by the natural way in which they’d built their own path toward forever.
With Bo at her side, anything was possible.
THE END
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Read on for your FREE bonus book – DEVIL’S BABY
DEVIL’S BABY: The Carnivores MC By Kathryn Thomas
THE DEVIL HIMSELF PUT A BABY IN MY BELLY.
I let things go too far.
But I couldn’t stop him – the mystery man who owned me for the night.
Submitting to him was a welcome escape from my horrible life…
But there’s no escaping the baby he put in my belly.
It was a wild Halloween party where I met him.
The masked man with a kiss like fire and a body like a god.
I wanted to feel alive again.
And when he held me down, I felt freer than I had in years.
I wanted his touch, his kiss, his power .
But I didn’t ask for what he gave me:
A child in my womb.
He left as suddenly as he came.
Now, I’m worse off than I ever was.
Pregnant and alone.
No hope in sight.
Even though he was masked, I swear I’d recognize him if only we crossed paths again.
There’s no mistaking that aura.
Danger.
Freedom.
Strength.
If I could only find the devil who did this to me…
I’d make him pay.
But as I soon discover…
The devil might be closer than I ever could have imagined.
Prologue Bishop
“Here you go, Bishop,” Lynnie coos as she runs her long fingers over my shoulders, massaging the muscles, “it’s just perfect for you.” She spins her light, leather-clad body around me, one hell of a wicked grin on her face, before she licks her pink lips and reaches up to tug at the black mask she just tied to my face. “There. I think you’re ready to go.”
“What about you?” I ask. “Where’s your mask? I thought they were required for Victor’s Halloween parties?”
Her grin widens. “I’ve got something special waiting out back to put on.” She purses her lips to create a pouty, sexy smile and adds, “Maybe we’ll find each other later, and I can show you what I mean.” I feel a hand touch the zipper of my black pants. I know this chick well, and she’s certainly not one to beat around the bush. She always gets what she wants.
Around us, the entryway to the Heatstroke Ballroom is filled with guys like me—my brothers, members of the Carnivores Motorcycle Club of Pasadena. They line up around the tables where rows of beautiful babes like Lynnie wait on them, making sure they are outfitted for the night with a black mask for the MC members. Non-club members and the club girls have to come with their own. That’s how you can tell them apart. That and they mingle around looking shocked and horrified. It’s rare for one to actually get in on the action.
It’s like this every year. It’s the party that the club’s known for around these parts, and it’s near impossible to get in unless you know someone who knows someone. Tonight’s no exception. Even though it’s relatively early for the party, only a few minutes past midnight, the music is thudding so hard and heavy that my feet feel like they’ll vibrate straight off the floor. The dance floor in front of me is packed with pulsating bodies grinding into one another. Their hands, arms, and legs blending and swaying to the rhythm.
I can’t stand this shit; the noise is just not for me. I’d rather hang around the bar in the open air where the smokers are, so I go outside towards the small patio. Their dope smells as fresh as ever—perks of the job—and the boys smoking keep it out in the open to share with other members and their guests. A group of guys passes around a pipe as they lounge around on a small leather sofa someone brought from inside. A girl in a velvety purple mask lifts the top of her mask to get a good clasp around the mouthpiece. She sucks in so hard her body rocks back into a waiting guy’s arms.
Moments later, as I’m being handed my drink by the bartender, I watch as the girl walks off towards the lot with the same guy. He holds onto her tightly, his arms wrapped around her chest as he pushes her towards the row of abandoned, antique cars. There’s a reason why we call that climax lane. And he wastes no time opening a rear door to one of the first cars and scooting her onto the back seat.
I faintly hear her giggle over the thud of the music blasting through the open doors and windows of the dance hall. Her voice sounds a million miles away from here. But all I care about is how warm this drink is making me feel. It’s been a day since I’ve had anything to eat. My shifts have been rough. The nights have been long. This whiskey is my payoff for being a patient worker. And now that I’ve thrown it back, letting it slowly slip down to my gut, I get to take what else is mine.
Lynnie’s offer is tempting.
She’s the kind of girl who will let you do just about anything within reason. She won’t say much either. That’s the way of club girls. She knows she’s property already. Any of us in good standing can take her at any moment—throw her in the back of one of those cars or against a wall and have her till she’s good and wet.
But where’s the chase in that? What fun is that supposed to be?
I’m a man—a fucking man who hunts for his dinner, who works with his hands, who demands to be pleased. Having a girl get down on her knees without me telling her to is like serving it to me on a silver platter. It’s all for looks and show, but at the end of the meal, there’s nothing there. I want something more; something I haven’t had before.
HITMAN’S SURPRISE BABY Page 33
