by Jaci J
“Me and you have shit to hash out,” he deadpans, walking toward me.
“Do we?” I ask, opening my eyes to look at him.
“Yeah, we fucking do.” Pulling his cut off, he hangs it on the doorknob.
I smile, watching him take his shirt off next. Then his jeans.
I could look at T all day, all six foot five of him.
“Slide up,” he orders, walking to the back of the huge tub and sliding in behind me.
The water rises, spilling over the edge and onto the deck.
T wraps an arm around my shoulders from behind, pulling me back against him. Between his powerful legs, I make myself comfortable.
“Good?”
I only nod.
Threading an arm under mine, T rests his big hand on my stomach, his fingers splayed, holding me back against him, his fingers rubbing against my skin.
“This serious, Bailey?”
“Is what serious?”
“You know what I mean.”
And I do.
Us.
This is everything I’ve ever been scared of, everything I’ve avoided, but here I am, standing at the cliff, ready to throw myself off of it.
“This is serious.”
“I’m talking future.”
I feel a smile tug at my lips. “Fifty years,” I say, my voice quiet.
I’ve never been more scared and more sure of anything.
“I’m serious, Bailey.”
“Me too,” I answer, staring off into the distance. I watch the waves roll in, crashing against the rocks below, water spraying up around the sheer edges. “I’m dead serious.”
“Good.”
“Are you serious about me?”
“Shouldn’t have to ask that, Doll,” he tells me, his hand pressing firmly into my stomach.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Serious, baby.”
“Am I your old lady?”
“You’re more than that,” he tells me.
Turning over in the tub, I get on my knees so I can look at him.
He’s looking at me, watching me.
I can read it all.
He’s serious.
“What am I?”
“Mine,” he growls, his hands on my hips, pulling me onto him.
Straddling his waist, I lean forward and kiss his lips.
T growls against mine, the sound possessive and hungry.
“Forever?” I ask, my tongue teasing his.
I watch his jaw flex, his eyes hardening. “Until my last breath.”
Dragging my hand up his tattooed arm, I slide mine around his neck and hook it there, anchoring myself to him.
“I love you,” I tell him, the words like another language. They’re beautiful, but foreign. Words I can’t remember saying, ever.
His hand on my waist tightens, fingers digging it my flesh.
Lifting up on my knees, I watch T fist his cock, pumping it a few times for show. “Slide down, baby.”
And I do. I seat myself on his hard cock, the feeling like no other.
It could be the first time, the last time, or somewhere in between, and it still feels exactly the same as it always does, and that’s perfect.
My hands find T’s shoulders and I lift up, using him like he uses me—for pleasure, for happiness, for everything.
Grabbing me around the back of my neck, T pulls my face to his, his lips tasting mine, telling me the one thing that tears down every wall I’ve ever built. “I love you too, Bailey.”
33
T
LIKE A FUCKING dream, Bailey’s on the bed, naked, her body perfectly laid out for me like a fucking offering to a god. Flawless and smooth, my hands itch to touch her. Her hair is fanned out around her angelic face. Her supple, perky tits beg to be licked.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
“Doll Face,” I murmur, walking into the small room.
She sits up, pulling the sheet over her legs as she drags a large paper bag onto her lap. I watch her open it and nod me over. “The delivery man left it on the porch.”
“I know, I paid him too.”
“You paid him to leave it?”
“Didn’t want you getting dressed.”
Bailey laughs, pulling out a to-go container. Popping it open, she dips her finger into the whipped cream on top of the cheesecake and pops it into her mouth. I watch her suck her finger clean, grinning around her finger.
Hair wet. Skin freshly showered. She sits in the middle of the old bed, in nothing but a white sheet, and she’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
My dick gets hard just looking at her.
“A taste,” she offers, holding out the finger she just sucked clean covered in whipped cream again.
In a towel, still wet from my shower, I crawl onto the bed, taking the box full of cake and whipped cream from her hands. Dipping my hand into the box, I get a handful of whipped cream and smear it on her tits.
Bailey laughs, falling onto her back under me.
Pulling the sheet away from her body, I drag my hand, sticky from the whipped cream, down her body, my tongue following it.
“T…”
“Sweet,” I growl, crawling between her thighs, my favorite place to be lately, and dip my tongue into her sweet cunt.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Better than the whipped cream?”
I eat her like I’m starving.
_______________
“You’re out of the bed,” I murmur, coming up behind her.
Standing on the porch, at the railing that overlooks the cliffs and beach below, Bailey leans against it, a bowl of fruit in front of her as she watches the ocean.
It’s early morning, the sun coming up at our backs, reflecting off the waves below.
Beautiful.
Not as beautiful as the woman in front of me, though.
“I was becoming one with that mattress,” she tells me, fingering a piece of pineapple. I watch as she puts it to her lips, the juicy fruit dripping onto her chin.
Fuck. Me.
“Doll,” I growl, caging her back against the railing. Dipping my head, I bite the pineapple, Bailey laughing softly as I do it. “What’s it with you in food this weekend?”
She shrugs her bare shoulder.
“Licked whipped cream off every inch of you. Let you feed me pizza. Now you got me eating fruit.”
“Love makes men do crazy things,” she tells me, finishing the rest of the pineapple.
Love.
Jesus, not something I ever thought I’d say or feel about someone outside of the Disciples.
Looking at her, I know it’s fucking real. I put her above everything—my club, my brothers, my own fucking life. She’s number one. She’s at the top of the list, above it all.
“Yeah, baby, it fucking does.”
“Does it make you want to fuck me outside?” she teases, turning around in my arms, her back to me.
Wearing my tee, the same one she’s been wearing all weekend, I slide my hand up the back and under the material, her skin smooth and naked underneath.
Everything she does makes me want to fuck her. It also makes me want to put my patch on her back and my ring on her finger. The bitch makes me want to do a lot of shit I never thought I’d do, like fall in fucking love like some hormonal teenager.
“Everything you do makes me wanna fuck you,” I growl, pushing my rock-hard cock against her plump ass.
“Mmm,” she moans, pushing her ass against me.
I don’t know how it’s possible. We’ve been fucking all weekend, but my dick gets hard every fucking time I look at her.
Pushing the material of my shirt up, I use one hand to grab one her plump ass cheeks and the other to shove the head of my cock into her dripping wet pussy.
I sink balls deep into her and we both groan.
I fuck her hard, on the deck, like it’s the first time.
_______________
“It’s Sunday,” Bailey whispers,
straddling my hips.
Half asleep, I crack my eyes open to look at her. She’s naked, wearing nothing but a shit-eating grin.
“Doll,” I growl, tired, running my hand down her side to her hip.
“I don’t want to go back.”
“No?”
She shakes her head, her hair a tangled mess.
Bailey looks well fucked. Warm, sleepy eyes. Red, raw lips. Tan and red marked skin. We’ve only been asleep a few hours. We fell asleep after I fucked her in the kitchen on the tiny kitchen table shoved up against the wall.
“Can we stay here?”
“Got shit to do at home, baby.”
“Please?”
“Baby,” I chuckle, shaking my tired head.
Sliding down my body, Bailey smirks. “I think I can convince you.”
“I think you could convince me of anything. Not the fucking point.”
“T…” she whispers, her soft hand wrapped around my cock, the motherfucker going ramrod solid in her grip. “Please.”
“Bailey,” I groan, my eyes squeezing closed when she licks the head.
“Please.”
Jesus Christ.
Growling, my hands fist in her hair when she takes me into her hot mouth, her tongue teasing me.
“Yeah, baby, one more day.”
“Two, T,” she counters, taking me deep.
Fuck, she’s good. So goddamn good.
“Whatever you want,” I moan, letting her suck me off, and not feeling guilty or bad about letting her fucking own me. The woman wins every time, and I’m okay with it.
BAILEY
The mattress is stiff, the sheets worn and the comforter old, but nothing dulls the view in front of me or the sound of T’s heart beating steadily under my cheek.
We’ve been here for four days, and we’ve left the bed only to eat and shower.
“Can I stay here forever?” I ask, watching the sun fall below the ocean.
“With or without me?” T questions, tightening his hold me on. I can feel the muscles in his arms flex as he keeps me close.
“Either or.” I laugh, and then squeal when he digs his fingers into my hips.
“The fuck kind of answer is that?”
“The view, though,” I sigh, the only answer I can give. “You’re a bonus, but it’s the view,” I lie.
I can’t get over the view. The endless ocean view. The waves, the haystacks, the rocky shoreline. It’s all breathtaking, something out of a dream, something you see in a painting.
I’ve been to the ocean, but not like this, and with T, it’s even better.
“The only view you’re gonna get is from the back of my bike, you little shit. I gave you four days.”
“Someone else driving?”
T huffs, rolling me onto my back and settling between my thighs, his body pinning mine to the mattress. This isn’t the first or second time we’ve been exactly like this in the last four days. We’ve spent a lot of time in this bed, just like this.
T’s ruggedly handsome face stares down at mine, his ocean blue eyes are endless and deep as the Pacific right outside those windows. Reaching up, I run my thumb across the smooth scar slashing though his eyebrow, deep and pink. “What happened?”
“Happened when I was a prospect,” he tells me, burying his face in my neck, hiding it from me.
I shiver when his lips tease the skin behind my ear, his beard scraping against my jaw. “How?”
“Brass knuckles.”
“Brass knuckles?” I whisper, savoring the feeling of his lips on my skin, his words only half registering.
Kissing his way down my neck to my chest, he peppers my skin with quick, chaste kisses until he reaches the hem of my lacy black bralette.
“You get dressed for a reason?” he questions, nosing the hem of my bra, pulling it down with his teeth.
My back comes off the mattress when he nips at the side of my boob, his teeth sinking into the fatty flesh before kissing it better with soft kisses.
“Kiss me,” I moan, suddenly needing him more than the time before.
Chuckling, T drags his wet tongue along the lace of my bra. “Thought I was, baby.”
Hooking my arms under his, I pull him up and to me. “More.”
Hovering, T looks down at me, and there’s that smile in his eyes. That teasing, taunting smile. “Bailey,” he drawls, his voice thick and deep.
“Kiss me.”
And he does.
He kisses me softly. He kisses me carefully.
It’s not enough.
“More.”
“More, huh? Thought you might be gettin’ tired of me.”
“Never.”
And I mean that. Never. I’d never get tired of him.
It’s the rush.
It’s T.
I want to push him away, but hold him close. I want to run away from him, but I want him to chase me. I want to be on the back his bike, but I want to be my own person.
I’m a mess.
The only thing that makes sense in my life right now is him.
“Never? Gonna revisit that shit in a couple of years.”
“A couple of years, huh?”
“Not gettin’ rid of me, baby.”
“No?”
His lips brush against mine. “Fuck no. Not after all your bullshit.”
“Is this a proposal?”
“That what you want?”
I’ve never thought about my life like that. I never pictured a wedding dress and babies, a white picket fence and a retirement plan.
“No.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
“And you got me.”
His lips on mine, he stills, his eyes snapping open, looking in to mine and I watch as something clouds his deep blue eyes, something dark and scary.
“T?” I ask, my arms tightening around his neck.
“Stay here,” he orders, getting off of me, my arms falling from around him.
Confused, I sit up, looking at him. I try to gauge what I see there, but T gives nothing away. Calm and cool as always. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a goddamn thing, Doll.”
He leaves the room and I lay back down, listening to the ocean outside, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks eerily soothing.
I lay like that a while.
Too long.
“T?” I call when the silence stretches into minutes.
I hear him moving around in the small living room only feet from the doorway, but I can’t see him when I roll over in the bed. “T?”
“Stay in bed. I’ll be a second,” he calls back, but something in his voice catches my attention. It’s not fear or terror. It’s not worry or uncertainty, but it’s something. Something that has shifted, something that’s changed.
On the nightstand is T’s gun. Big and black and deadly. It’s been there all weekend, and not once have I really paid it any attention until now.
I don’t know why I do it, or what makes me grab it, but I do, holding it in my hand like a fucking lifeline. The only thing tethering me to moments ago when everything in the world was fucking perfect.
Wearing nothing but my bra, panties, and bravery, I walk to the door of the bedroom and look out, looking from right to left. At first, I don’t see anything, just the small empty living room, our bags still on the floor, untouched. T dropped them there before picking me up and putting me in the bed where we’ve been since.
Looking to the other side, I find T, and my heart plummets to my feet at what I see.
Standing in the small kitchen, his hands out and in front of him, T stares down at man with a gun. The man’s back is to me, but I can see the barrel pointed directly between T’s blue eyes.
“This was too fucking easy,” the man sneers, the sound of his voice like nails on a chalkboard.
A surge of adrenaline rushes through me, a flush of ice-cold fear chasing it.
Fight or flight.
I look at the g
un in my hand, my fingers trembling around the handle.
Looking back up, I catch T’s eyes, and I watch as they widen just slightly, fear looking back at me.
I want to say something, ask questions, scream his name, but I do nothing. I press my lips together, desperately trying to come up with a plan.
“T?” I mouth, tears stinging at my eyes.
He jerks his head, and in that moment, the man starts to turn, and I do something I never thought I could or would.
I lift the gun. I aim. I pull the trigger.
34
T
THE SOUND OF the gunshot ricochets around the cabin, the noise fucking deafening in the small space. After the quiet few days we’ve had here together, that shit is fucking loud and intrusive.
I’ve heard gunshots, many times. But this time isn’t like any other time.
Blood, brains, and fucking skin pepper me, the motherfucker splattered all over the room, dripping from the ceiling and my arm.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Instantly, Bailey drops the gun to the floor at her feet, her hands shaking as she backs away from it, like the motherfucker’s on fire.
She’s scared.
The fucker on the floor is dead, blood pooling out of the hole in the side of his head as soon as he hit the hardwood floor.
Bailey killed him, shot him fucking dead.
Jesus Christ.
“Doll Face,” I say, my voice calmer than I feel. I don’t want to scare her as I approach her. I need to get my hands on her. I have to touch her.
Bailey’s big brown eyes snap up to mine, and she starts to shake her head back and forth, like she can’t believe what just happened.
I take a step toward her, hands out and ready to grab her when the front door smashes open, Victor coming in through it.
He’s closer to her than I am.
Bailey stops, her head swiveling around at the same time mine does.
“Bailey!” I bark, going for her.
I’m not close enough.
Victor snatches her, his hand wrapping around her hair, jerking her back toward him and away from me.
My heart fucking squeezes in my chest, the image tearing me wide open.
He’s got her.
Bailey looks at me with fear in her eyes.
Her beautiful face pales.
I thought I knew fear until I saw the look on her face when Victor put his hands on her. Her dark eyes are full of terror as they look into mine, begging me for something I can’t give her—safety.
