by Rie Warren
He nodded but looked confused.
“So a pussycat drink is actually cat pee.”
Honoré laughed behind her hand.
Caleb’s nose wanted to crawl up inside his head.
He looked about to hurl when he said, “That’s disgusting!”
“Right?”
“Can I go run around now? Promise to stay out here, unless I gotta pee. I can’t pee against a tree out here, can I, Saint?”
“Not recommended no.”
Off he went, zigzagging around people like a lightning bolt.
“Well done, Saint Baptiste.” Honoré sauntered up to me.
I wanted to take her in my arms and seal my lips over hers, but instead I glanced around all furtive like.
“Why are you being so weird?” One of her fair brows hitched up.
“Making sure Caleb doesn’t see us.”
Looping her arms around my neck, she laughed. “Now you know what it’s like not to live the single life.”
“Yeah. I get it. I mean, I love you. I love you both. But sometimes I just wanna . . .”
“You just want to what?” She licked her lips.
My voice dropped to a deep rumble. “Sometimes I just wanna bend you over the kitchen counter and rip your clothes off and fuck you until you scream.”
“Poor baby,” she teased, but her voice held a breathy quality.
I cupped her ass in two hands and took her in a slanting, tongue-slathering kiss with wide open mouths. Definitely nothing PG-rated or pure and wholesome about the way I grinded her against my body, my hands roaming to her back bared by the sexy dress.
Was fixing to haul her inside and up to my rooms when I remembered they weren’t my rooms anymore, and Revenge had probably already installed his twins in the presidential suite.
Drawing apart, I panted, and Honoré touched her lips, which made me hunger for them even more.
My damn cock swelled in the uncomfortable suit pants, the tie closing off my oxygen. Or it could’ve been the rush of fiery arousal making my breath short.
MJ passed by with a drink in her hand, stopping just long enough to say, “You two look like guilty teenagers. Wish I could get some of that.”
Chuckling, I clasped Honoré’s hand and we threaded through well-wishers to the bar.
“What’ll you have?” The prospect’s baby face had become defined into more mature angles in the year since he’d been here.
Probably because we worked him day and night with all the shit jobs.
Nothing said we appreciate you like making Hayden Chase get up at the crack of dawn to clean the toilets from last night’s raucous customers.
“Wine for Honoré, beer for me.”
When Chase passed the beverages over, Honoré gave him her most winning smile.
I swear, those women—Grace, Mercy, and Honoré—were teaming up to get him patched through.
Angel propped an elbow on the shiny surface of the bar, Mercy sliding over to chinwag with Honoré.
He took the clear fizzy drink Chase offered—the glass perfectly decorated with orange slices—and passed it to Mercy.
Of course. No alcohol.
There’d be a new Blood Legion baby in January.
After sipping on a neat whiskey, Angel notched his chin at me. “If it ain’t Mr. fuckin’ I’m such a hero I’m not calling a lawyer.”
Chase, Lennox, Slade, and the rest all guffawed.
Mercy winked at me. “Where Ah come from, that’s called being a martyr.”
“Yeah, well.” My face got hot under all the scrutiny. “Maybe I should send a thank you note or something to Storm and Blaize for that.”
Slade snorted. “Wouldn’t do that. It could come across as bribery.”
Some of the other guys melted into the crowd, and I laid my hand on Angel’s shoulder. “You know I’m grateful, yeah?”
He shrugged me off. “Don’t need gratitude. What good is having connections if you can’t borrow them from time to time.” He grinned against the lip of his tumbler. “’Sides, Storm can be a bastard if I don’t ask him for help. Big brother complex and all that.”
It was only now fully dawning on me the frigging pure luck I’d chanced into, going from the Leather Devils, to jail, to here—the Blood Legion MC.
Angel clanked his glass against my bottle. “We’re solid.” Then he let out a shrill whistle and raised up his arms. “Laissez l’bon temps rouler!”
The music got cranked louder. The drinks got poured faster. The dancing started.
Momma Joan grooved to the tunes with one of the older Man Buns . . . Silver Bun?
Caleb darted in and around people, stopping every so often at Sol’s buffet to snatch food he immediately stuffed into his mouth before hopping back into the melee.
I watched him stop to jaw with someone or other along the way. Never met a stranger.
I moved up to Revenge who’d lost Haven’s knapsack but was still stag even though he was baby-free.
“Where are the twins tonight?”
“Didn’t think they were real good role models for Haven.” He squinted over the tops of heads.
Color me fucking surprised.
“What’s this?” I jabbed him in the ribs. “Are you going for a cleaner life?”
“Cleaner life?” Head craned back, he let out a laugh to the sky. “What do I want with that? Nah. One night only.” He rubbed his hands together as a dirty smirk spread his lips. “Tomorrow I’m getting all the pussy.”
“There’s somethin’ to be said for settling down, you know?”
His silver-gray eyes darkened. “Not for me. Not anymore.”
We might’ve been cellmates, but we’d never truly shared the deep thinking stuff. Hell, I knew less about Revenge than he had about me before the whole Death Dealers shit sandwich blew up.
Just when I was about to take another stab at persuading him to trade in his whole man-whoredom, his entire body stiffened. His features sharpened like an animal on the scent of prey.
Maybe he’d caught sight of his elusive triplets?
“What the hell, dude. You okay?”
He did a double take in the same direction as before then rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Think I just saw a ghost or something.”
I followed his lead when his glance landed on one specific woman.
Whoa.
She definitely wasn’t part of the Doublemint duo.
Leggy, sleek, flaming red hair all rolled up in a fancy knot—the woman reeked of money and class, and I wondered if she was with the bride or groom because I’d never seen her before.
“It’s not her,” Revenge murmured mysteriously. “Can’t be her.”
“Her, who?”
“Nothing.” He drained his drink. “Just . . . nobody.”
I was still frowning at him when Sol made his way over.
It was like he had some kind of sixth sense, all Creole and witchy-woo when weird shit was going down.
He peered at Revenge, whose expression pulled in tight.
“Who be da woman? Red hair . . . auspicious.”
“Auspicious bullshit.” Revenge glowered. “More like she’s no one I know, I don’t wanna know, and all y’all can take your suspicious fuckery and kiss my honky ass.”
He stormed off, and Sol muttered something in his gravelly voice before slipping away too.
That was Sol, spreading joie de vivre and voodoo in one fell swoop.
While I’d been sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, Honoré had been called up on stage. I pulled a chair right up to the edge of the little dance floor that had been set up and plonked my ass down.
Damn, I could get lost in her voice all night long.
Her vivid eyes shined down on me like every note she played was for me alone, and she just had me all the way.
I led the thunderous applause each time she finished a song, and Caleb got swept up in dancing. At one point, MJ snagged him for a whirl and then he and Mamere twirled around energet
ically. I thought his feet were gonna fly out of his shoes, but he couldn’t stop laughing, the sound second best only to Honoré’s voice.
Of course, MJ snagged me too.
Latching onto my arm, she tried to haul me to my feet. “Come on. You can’t just sit there drooling all night.”
I begged to differ but went with it anyway.
We grooved along with everyone else, the celebration well under way.
I reckoned it would be my turn to get hitched next, a thought that never would’ve crossed my mind without Honoré.
As soon as she finished her short set, I lifted her down from the stage and straight into my arms. Our lips nearly touching, and my body aching for her, the moment was interrupted when Angel belted out another ear-splitting whistle.
As he called everyone’s attention, I wondered if he was going to give a speech, but it quickly became apparent he had no such plans.
An evil grin worked across his lips and, beside him, Mercy rolled her eyes.
I started snickering. No doubt he was gonna fuck with the prospect again.
“Yo, probie!” he yelled, beckoning Chase over with two fingers.
“Aw hell,” Chase could be heard grumbling.
Standing stiffly in front of the prez, he folded his arms over his chest. “If you’re about to give me another frigging toilet plunger, I’m gonna—”
“You’re gonna what, prospect?” Back in his usual spirits, Revenge ragged on Chase.
“Just shut the fuck up. I know I’m never getting patched through, asshole.”
Revenge hooted and Chase scowled.
“Actually”—Angel swaggered forward until they were face to face—“I do have a patch for you.”
Chase’s eyes lit up like a freaking kid on Christmas morning.
Until Angel opened his palm to reveal the patch. Then Chase slung out an almighty string of curses.
“What does it say?” I shouted.
Revenge peered over Chase’s shoulder. “Master Pussy Drink Mixer, Blood Legion MC!”
While we all got a good chuckle over his latest humiliation, Chase snatched the patch and crumpled it in his fist.
“You’re a dick.” He snarled.
Angel slung his arm around Chase’s neck. “Yeah. I know. But it’s good entertainment.”
Chase pushed his arm away then stomped back to the bar where he downed a nice big portion of the expensive whiskey.
The volume on the music shot back up—this time a ballad—and I finally got my chance to do what I’d wanted to since that night way back in April when I’d first seen Honoré.
Looking down at the beauty beside me, I held out my hand. “Care to dance?”
The smile she gave me shined from within, and she let me lead her to the dance floor.
We moved together, her hands resting on my shoulders and mine smoothing from her waist to the base of her spine. The slow music guided us, and our bodies brushed together. I inhaled the soft, sensual scent of her, lightly touching the bare skin of her back.
I remembered the first time I’d asked her, right in this very spot, and she’d flat out refused me. I’d been strung out on her ever since, except now I didn’t have to worry.
She was mine, and we were going home together at the end of the night.
Bending my head, I nuzzled my lips against her ear and then lower along the side of her neck. Her fingers stroked from my shoulders to my jawline, tickling through my goatee. Hunching closer, I bit down on a groan when my excited cock rubbed against her belly.
The end of the night came a lot sooner than I expected, but I wasn’t complaining.
Just a song later, Honoré looked up with hazy eyes. “Are you ready to go, handsome?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“You’ll see.” Her words held a naughty promise I couldn’t mistake.
Giddy-fucking-up.
Disengaging from her, I scanned across the wedding party to locate Caleb.
Then I scanned again, and my heart started to beat as fast as the day Ripper had taken him, because I couldn’t see him anywhere.
“Where the hell is Caleb? We didn’t lose him, did we? I swear I was keeping watch—”
Honoré pressed a finger against my lips. “Joan took him to her place for the night.”
“She did?”
With a secret somewhat saucy smile, Honoré nodded.
Interesting.
But I couldn’t stop worrying. “She was drinking though. Did she drive?”
Running her hands beneath my jacket, Honoré rubbed her fingers over my abs—raising goose bumps and my temperature. “I called a taxi.”
“Not Uber though right? Because that shit’s shady.”
“Saint”—she dragged the back of her hand along the waist of my pants—“do you want to have some fun with me or not?”
Yesssss.
After her clear invitation, I threw around congratulations and fist bumps and goodbyes, and we were on our way.
But not on our way home, I discovered when Honoré began directing me toward Canal Street once in my car.
“Are we going somewhere special?” I shifted into high gear then laid my hand on her bare thigh.
Her short lacey dress rose up even more when she delicately crossed her legs and pivoted in my direction.
“You’ll see,” she repeated with the same coy expression.
By the time she had me pull up at a fancy hotel, my cock was rock hard and ridiculous in my suit pants, my mouth had gotten dry, and my pulse was a drumbeat in my ears.
I buttoned my jacket as soon as I exited the Chevelle in hopes of disguising the hard ridge of my dick.
When I walked around to help Honoré from the front seat, she sweetly asked, “Pop the trunk?”
I was gonna pop something. Probably the inseam of my damn pants.
Jeans were way better at hiding erections.
At the open trunk, I got another surprise. Apparently my mischievous woman had packed overnight bags for the both of us.
A sexy getaway?
Fucking sign me up.
Maybe I could cross more things off my sexual bucket list tonight.
Inside the upscale lobby, she walked slightly ahead of me while I locked sights on her fantastic ass, killer legs, and the sinuous line of her back in the slinky dress.
She checked us in.
I watched in awe.
She sent me a saucy smile full of promise, and I was like a boner on a leash all the way to the elevator and then to our room.
Inside the suite, I spared a glance or two at the digs.
Lights low. Massive bed. Big balcony. A silver ice bucket not stocked with champagne but the beer I liked and a bottle of white wine.
After dropping our bags on a low bench, I took her hand and towed her to me.
“What’s all this, baby?”
“A dirty weekend with the man I love.”
Hell fucking yes.
I drew her closer, intent on getting this dirty weekend started. But Honoré pulled free.
Her fingers walked down my chest, and I hastily unbuttoned my jacket. “Not yet, baby. Why don’t you pour me a drink?”
I blew out a ragged breath, aiming for control instead of acting like an animal.
I opened her wine and poured a glass for her, which she sipped while staring at me with those liquid diamond-blue eyes.
A tiny drop of wine clung to the corner of her pursed lips when she swallowed, and she damn well knew what she was doing to me.
The muscles of my chest heaved beneath the constricting shirt, and my cock fought to get out of my pants and into her mouth.
Lifting her small overnight bag and taking her wine with her, she headed toward the bathroom. “I’ll be right back. You just . . . take a load off.”
With a sassy wink, she left me alone.
Take a load off?
Ha.
I was saving the one broiling in my balls for her. And I wanted to spray my cum all over her bo
dy like champagne.
Popping open a beer, I took a slug of the brew. Then I lost my jacket, the tie. I toed off my shoes and wrangled out of my socks.
My shirt was tugged out and unbuttoned down my chest when she came out.
And my fucking jaw dropped to the floor along with the shirt I’d been shrugging out of.
Then I thought maybe I shouldn’t be lusting after her so hard . . . like this.
Holy fuck though.
Honoré was wearing such seriously wicked lingerie, my eyes and cock almost leaped off my body.
“Baby, you don’t have to dress like that for me.”
My engorged dick disagreed one hundred percent.
“Okay.” One half of her mouth lifted up, and her tits had never look plumper than when she drew in a deep breath. “I’ll just go put on my sweats and—”
“No!” I held out a hand to halt her. “Just let me take a closer look.”
She drew her hands up along her hips to the bottom of her breasts, her lusty eyes beckoning me closer.
Damn. Goddamn double damn.
I was shaking in my skin as I walked around her.
Her white blonde hair became a kinky halo from being arranged in braids. Her icy blue eyes were so pale they were nearly translucent. Trans-fucking-lucent like the one-piece teddy she wore.
The contraption was lavender, like her almost-proper dress had been. It also had peek holes, just like the dress but way more revealing. Lacy in parts and sheer in others, the teddy cruised high on the swells of her hips and left a diamond of skin bare on her tummy. Two cut-out triangles left the top hills of her tits free and, from her nipples down, see-through mesh cupped her succulent flesh.
But the back of the one-piece flat out stole my breath away.
Nothing but a string worked its way between the two rounds of her ass cheeks. Nothing. And the rest was just straps of silky fabric and lots of bare silky skin and, good god, I wanted to mount her immediately.
“Damn, woman. You look downright scandalous.” I swallowed hard, my cock a pronounced thickness stretching the front of my pants.
“That’s not all.” Walking with a swish-sway of her naked ass, she bent over—mount her now—to lift something else from her bag.
“I’m not sure how much more I can take before I pounce on you.” My voice had never been rougher, my desire raw and thundering away.
She spun, her tits wobbling, and her nipples contracted inside the mesh barely containing them. She presented a little zippered bag I assumed held her cosmetics.
