Gypsy King

by Devney Perry

  “Okay. Then I guess we’ll print happy news for a while. Not a bad thing.”

  I smiled. “No, it’s not.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Dad.” I waved again, then emerged outside, savoring the heat from the morning sun on my face. It was a strange time for a nap, but as I drove home, a wave of exhaustion crashed into me hard and I knew the second I made it home, I was going back to bed.

  Toast would have to wait until I was fully awake.

  With my car parked in the garage, I walked into the house, half asleep.

  “Ahh!” I screamed. I clutched my heart, hoping it would stop trying to break free. “What are you doing?”

  Dash dropped the towel he’d folded on top of the stack of others. “Laundry.”

  “I thought you’d be gone.”

  “Took a shower but couldn’t find a towel in the bathroom. So I went searching and got one from a laundry basket. Decided to fold that one. Then I found another. And another.”

  “What can I say. I loathe folding laundry.”

  He grinned. “Figured that out two baskets ago, baby.”

  I walked deeper into the room, plopping down on the arm of the couch as Dash folded another towel. “What are you really doing here? Because it’s not folding my laundry.”

  “Hiding.”

  “Hiding,” I repeated.

  “Yeah.” He picked up the basket, now full of folded clothes, and set it aside. “Can I hide here?”

  The vulnerability in his voice twisted my heart. “Of course.”

  “Thanks.” Dash came to stand in front of me, his feet bare on the rug, and lifted his hands to frame my face. “Kiss.”

  “You’re demanding today.”

  He dropped his lips to mine. “You like it.”

  As his tongue swept across my lips, the swell of heat in my core proved his point. I opened my mouth, letting him sweep inside. His taste consumed my mouth and my hands reached for his hips, pulling him closer.

  He stepped between my legs, using his own to push them wide. Then he leaned down and forced me back on my perch, keeping his grip firm on my face.

  Our mouths twisted and turned, battling one another for more. The temperature in the room spiked and I ached to feel my bare skin against his. The weeks since I’d had him inside me had been far too long, and the need to feel him was overwhelming. Panting and searching for more to stoke the fire burning, I gripped at his T-shirt and pulled him on top of me.

  He ripped his lips away, grabbing me by the hips and spinning us both, so he was sitting on the couch and I straddled his lap. Dash’s erection, thick and hard beneath his zipper rubbed against my core.

  “Off.” I yanked at his shirt, dragging it up his body as he worked the button and zipper free on my jeans.

  “Are you wet for me?” He slipped his hand into my panties, finding my slippery folds with his middle finger. A grin spread across his face as I gasped at that finger curving inside.

  “Yes,” I moaned, closing my eyes and letting my head lull sideways. “I missed you.”

  I’d missed more than just his body, but I kept that thought to myself.

  Dash’s lips sucked at my neck, kissing and licking as his free hand tugged at the collar of my tee. “Missed you too.”

  He was most definitely talking about sex. But in the corners of my heart, I pretended it was something more.

  His hand between my legs tormented, teased, until I was nearly breathless. But I didn’t want to come around his fingers. Digging for the strength in my wobbling knees to stand, I climbed off his lap, shoving my jeans and panties to the floor.

  I whipped off my shirt and by the time I looked back at Dash, he’d pulled his own jeans down his hips and his shirt was off. Those ripped abs were bunched and his hand was fisted around his pulsing shaft, a condom in place.

  I straddled his waist, taking his face in my hands. “Damn, you’re sexy.”

  “I know.” He grinned as I kissed the corner of his mouth.

  That arrogance should have been a turnoff, but the man had a mirror. And he knew what he did to me.

  Dash positioned himself beneath my entrance, and as I slowly sank down, I sheathed him. The stretch, that incredible fill, sent a shudder down my spine and I nearly orgasmed right then.

  “Fuck,” Dash groaned, the cords of his neck straining as I lifted up before sinking down again. “You’ve ruined me.”

  The laundry he’d folded tumbled from the couch as we got lost in the frenzy. I rode him hard until my muscles weakened and my pace slowed. Dash took over, smashing our chests together as he repositioned us, me on my back with my legs spread wide. Him between me, powerful and in control.

  The sheer masculinity of his arms and legs amazed me as he braced himself, thrusting his hips over and over until I came undone. My orgasm washed over me in hard, long waves until I was limp.

  Dash came not long after, pouring himself free as the ridges of his chest and abs flexed. I had definitely gone too long without that view. It was mine. All mine. For just a little bit longer.

  “It just gets better,” he panted into my hair as he collapsed on top of me. Then he dropped a swift kiss on my neck and stood, sliding out. “Be right back.”

  While he went to deal with the condom, I worked to catch my breath. There was a charged feeling under my skin. An electricity. I’d been so tired when I’d come home, but now I wanted more.

  Dash came back into the living room, holding out a hand to help me from the couch. The moment I was on my feet, I reached between us for his cock. Maybe he’d be up for round two.

  “Not yet.” He grinned, taking my hand away. “I’m out of condoms.”

  “Oh.” My spirits fell. “I don’t have any.”

  “I’ll run out and get some later. Like to have my own anyway.”

  He liked to have his own? I blinked, unsure I’d heard him correctly. “What exactly does that mean? Because it kind of sounded like you need condoms to use with someone other than me.”

  And that was absolutely not going to work.

  “What? No, babe.” He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead. “You’re it. But I watched one of my brothers in the club get a girl pregnant because she’d fucked with the condom. I’ve always made it a habit to provide them myself.”

  “I’m not some lying, manipulative—”

  “Stop.” He kissed me again. “Know that’s not you. But I still buy the condoms.”

  “Fine.” I huffed, stepping out of his hold and walking down the hallway to my bedroom. It hurt that he didn’t trust me enough to provide protection, that I was no different than any other woman he’d slept with.

  “Don’t be mad.” Dash caught me in the hall, wrapping me in his arms. “Not saying any of this to hurt you. I just don’t want kids. Don’t see myself as a father. Never have.”

  Why was I drawn to such an emotionally unavailable man? This wasn’t the first time I’d been with a man who was terrified of commitment. Why did I seem to find men who thought the idea of a family was a death sentence?

  “It’s fine,” I muttered, unable to hide the irritation in my voice. It wasn’t his fault. He was only being honest. The problem wasn’t Dash. It was me. “I’m just tired.”

  Emotionally and physically.

  He let me go. “Let’s crash for a while.”

  And forget this conversation ever happened. What did it matter if he didn’t want kids? We weren’t on that path, so it was best to forget this whole thing. Maybe this was more than just sex. But that didn’t mean we were a couple. I might be his temporary hiding place—that didn’t mean we had a future.

  Dash followed me to the bedroom, and I climbed under the sheets, facing away from him. But instead of giving me my space, he took me in his arms, positioned me on his chest and stroked my hair until, bruised hearts and all, we both fell asleep.

  We woke hours later as the sun streamed into the room, though neither of us made a move to get up. I stayed dra
ped over his chest as his fingers drew patterns on the small of my back.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to tell Nick,” Dash said into my hair.

  “About . . .” Genevieve. I left her name unspoken, suspecting it would only irritate him. Dash wasn’t ready to learn about his half sister, wonderful as she was.

  “Yeah. About . . . her.” He sighed. “Nick and Dad had this falling out after Mom died. Took years for them to work it out. The shit that happened, with Emmeline almost getting kidnapped, brought them back together. This will destroy them all over again. Dad’ll lose his son and his grandkids this time too. Nick won’t forgive him.”

  I lifted up to see his eyes. They were golden in the dim light. Captivating. Sad. “Maybe before you call Nick, you should get the whole story.”

  “No.” He frowned. “I can’t talk to Dad.”

  “You will have to at some point.” Unless Draven went to prison for killing Amina. Then Dash might be able to avoid his father. But in the end, he’d regret it. “Don’t do it for him. Do it to get answers. And then you can decide what to do about Nick.”

  He blew out a long breath. I expected him to take some time to think over my suggestion, but one moment I was sinking on his exhale, and the next I was being toppled to the side as he flew off the bed. “Let’s go.”

  “Now?”

  “Now. And you’re coming with me.”

  “Me? Why? I think it would be better if this was just you and your dad.” I’d already intruded on last night’s kitchen scene.

  “You need to be there to stop me if I try to kill him.”

  I shot him a glare. “Not funny, Dash.”

  “Then . . . will you be there for me?” He held out a hand. “Please?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dash

  “Is this the house where you grew up?” Bryce pulled into Dad’s driveway.

  It wasn’t really the question she was asking. She wanted to know if this was where Mom had died.

  I glanced at the sidewalk. “Yeah.”

  “Oh.” She put the car in park. “I thought maybe you would have moved. After . . .”

  “No. Dad thought it would show weakness.”

  Her mouth fell open. “What?”

  “That’s what he told us anyway. But really, I think he stayed because he couldn’t fathom the idea of living somewhere else. He bought this house for Mom a few years after they were married.”

  This was the house where they had loved. Where they’d brought Nick and me home from the hospital. Where they’d made our family.

  The house was painted a soft green. The trim was maroon and matched the front door. Dad had had it repainted a few years ago because it was starting to chip. He’d told the painters to pick the exact same colors because those were the colors Mom had picked four decades prior.

  “She’s in the walls,” I told Bryce. “The floors and rooms and hallways. That’s why he couldn’t leave. It’s not her house. The house is her.”

  “He loves her.”

  I nodded. “Above anything else, she was precious to him. At least, I thought so. Now . . . I’m not sure.”

  Maybe I didn’t know Dad at all. The father I’d admired wouldn’t have cheated on his wife.

  Why? It didn’t make sense. When Dad loved Mom so much, why would he take another woman? How could he do that to her?

  We sat for a few moments because I couldn’t bring myself to reach for the handle on the door. I was so angry on behalf of my mother, who I missed every damn day.

  How could he?

  “Dash.” Bryce placed her hand on my knee. “I can hear the questions popping into your mind. Ask him. Get your answers.”

  She looked at the house and I followed her gaze. Dad was standing in the front window, watching as I debated whether or not to get out of the car. Even from a distance and through the glass, I could see a gash on his cheek. I’d hit him harder than I’d thought. Made sense because my knuckles were killing me today.

  I’d never hit my father before. Never would have dreamed of it.

  Or, I had.

  I blew out a deep breath. Bryce was right. I had to get some answers. “Let’s go.”

  We exited the car in unison, and I took her hand, marching us to the side door. I didn’t knock. We found Dad waiting on the leather couch in the living room.

  Without a word, I sat in a chair across from him. Bryce took the other in the room. The pair used to match the couch, but Mom had had them reupholstered a few months before she’d died to a deep green. They were ugly as sin, but the second Dad was ready to get replacements, I was taking these two chairs home.

  Dad’s eyes were red rimmed and his skin pale. That gash was a lot worse up close and could probably use a couple of stitches. His salt and pepper hair was a mess, oily and in need of a good shampoo.

  While I’d somehow managed to fall asleep in Bryce’s bed last night, Dad looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

  “I want to know why.” I broke the silence, wanting to talk first. This visit wasn’t for Dad; he didn’t deserve to run the show. “I want to know why you did this to her.”

  “It was a mistake.” Dad’s voice cracked. “Your mother and Amina were friends. Best friends.”

  Bryce stiffened, her face snapping my way. “Did you know that?”

  Yes. I stayed quiet. If I told her about that stupid yearbook picture, she’d get pissed and leave. I needed Bryce for this today. Having her here provided a buffer. I’d keep my temper in check with her in the room. I couldn’t risk her finding out and leaving me to deal with Dad alone.

  Dad’s gaze held mine. He knew I was lying by omission, but there was no way he’d speak up, not when he knew my white lie was nothing compared to the sins he’d committed.

  “Keep going,” I ordered.

  “We spent a lot of time together, the three of us. Your mom never left Amina out. She loved Amina.”

  That love was apparently one-sided if her best friend had slept with her husband.

  “I didn’t know.” Dad hung his head. “I didn’t see it. I think maybe your mom did and that was why she began to put some distance between her and Amina their senior year. But I didn’t see it.”

  “See what?” I asked.

  “Amina was in love with you,” Bryce guessed.

  Dad nodded. “She was my friend. That’s all it ever was for me. I’ve never loved another woman other than Chrissy.”

  “Then how could you fuck her friend and get her pregnant?” My fists pounded on my knees.

  Bryce’s hand stretched across the space between our chairs, covering one of my fists. Thank fuck, she’d come with me today. I already wanted to leave. But her hand held firm, keeping me in my seat.

  “Amina left Clifton Forge after high school. Didn’t think much of it when she and your mom stopped talking for a couple of years. Figured they’d drifted apart. But then Amina called her one random afternoon. Came to visit and spent the weekend in town. They came to party at the clubhouse one night.”

  “And that was when—”

  “No.” Dad shook his head. “Not then. Amina went back to Denver. But after that first trip, she came back every year. Always in the summer. Always for a weekend. She’d come party at the clubhouse, get drunk, hook up. You boys were young and the clubhouse wasn’t really your mom’s scene anymore. Wasn’t really mine either, truthfully. But Amina was single so we didn’t think much of it.”

  The story was progressing, and my skin was crawling. But I kept my jaw screwed shut.

  “Chrissy and I hit a rough patch. You and Nick were boys then. My God, we fought. All the time. Every day.”

  “When? I don’t remember you ever fighting.”

  “She hid it.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “She put a smile on when you both were home because she didn’t want you to know. We’d tolerate one another and then duke it out when you and Nick were asleep. She didn’t like how things were going with the club, we were taking risks and I was keeping st
uff from her. It got so bad, she kicked me out.”

  “But you always lived here.” I would have remembered if he’d moved out.

  “You were only eight. Nick was twelve. We told you both I was going on a run. A long one. And I spent three weeks living at the clubhouse.”

  Now that trip, I remembered. Dad had never been gone so long before and Mom was sad. Because she missed him. Guess there was more to it.

  “You missed my go-cart race. I was mad at you for being gone because I won and you didn’t see me win.” I scoffed. “But you were in town the whole time.”

  “I watched you win that race from behind a pair of binoculars about a hundred yards away.”

  “You lied to us.”

  He nodded. “Because your mom asked me to.”

  “You don’t get to blame anything on her,” I snapped. “Ever.”

  Dad held up a hand. “I’m not. This is on me. All of it.”

  “So while you were living at the clubhouse, Amina came up for a visit,” Bryce said.

  “Yeah. We had a party. The pair of us got drunk and high. Things are hazy but I took her to bed. The next morning, I woke up and knew I’d made a horrible mistake. Told her the same. She started crying and confessed to being in love with me. Amina hated herself for it. She loved Chrissy too.”

  Who the fuck cared about Amina? She didn’t get to love Dad. He wasn’t hers to love. And she sure as hell didn’t love Mom, not if she’d fuck her friend’s husband. For the first time, I couldn’t find it in myself to feel sorry that Amina had been stabbed to death.

  And I’d never forgive Dad for doing this to Mom.

  “I hate you for this.”

  Dad let out a dry laugh. “Son, I’ve hated myself for twenty-six years.”

  “And Mom? Did she hate you too? Because you came home. You seemed happy. Or was that all bullshit?”

  “I came back. Got on my knees and begged your mom to let me come home.”

  “She forgave you?” My eyes bulged. “No way.”

  Dad’s face paled as his eyes filled with tears.