She leaned down and kissed him. Just a brush of her lips, but she gave him a taste of wild strawberries. Just a small elusive hint that lingered in his mouth. He had to resist fisting her hair and holding her head in place while he devoured her. She was still in teasing mode. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and bit down gently, trapping that soft curve and pulling it in warning, narrowing his eyes at her.
She giggled like a little kid, forcing him to release her. Immediately, she rolled off of him and scooted to the headboard, her favorite place. He pulled her legs down so he could lay across her hips, pillowing his head on her belly, his favorite place.
“You really didn’t mind all those women there last night, did you?” she asked.
“That’s your question? You’re going to waste one of your questions on a silly one like that?” She knew the answer.
Hell no, he didn’t mind. It ruined his badass image, but then one look at him restored it immediately. He liked the old ladies, particularly Anat Gamal. There was just something about those older women that got to him. They needed someone to defend them, he was there. He wasn’t the only one that thought that way. All of Torpedo Ink did.
“No, baby, I didn’t mind them coming out to hear you sing. They had a good time, and the bar wasn’t too crowded. It would have been different if we’d had a couple of clubs standing off against each other, but last night no one was there challenging each other, and the ladies had their night of fun.”
He rubbed her hip. This was what they did together. Lay on her bed and asked questions. The rule was, they had to answer honestly. They’d started their relationship that way, and he always enjoyed hearing her answers and her questions. “What bothers you most about our club?”
He looked up at her, watched her face. She bit her lip, not wanting to answer. He’d hoped he’d been wrong and she wasn’t bothered about the club, but it was clear she was. He’d known she wouldn’t like the question, but she wasn’t a coward, his woman. She might take her time, but she wouldn’t call a halt to their game.
“It’s a closed club. I’m not in it, but I’m expected to live with it, with the rules, and to help all of you whenever you need it.”
He turned her answer over and over in his mind. There was some truth to that. Torpedo Ink was closed off in some ways. All right, if he was honest, in all ways. They let their women in by loving and protecting them, but it wasn’t the same. No one had gone through the things they had together. They’d been torn apart. Shredded. They weren’t whole, not unless they were together. One didn’t survive without the others. It was difficult to explain to anyone else. So, yeah, he got it. She wasn’t exactly wrong. Still, she was his woman, and the club accepted her as such, which meant she was theirs to protect.
“That’s not exactly right, Seychelle. Every member of Torpedo Ink would lay down their life for you.”
“Maybe. I don’t want them laying down their life for me. I want, for once in my life, to be someone’s first.”
He frowned. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Her lashes fluttered. “It isn’t your turn. It’s my turn.”
“Then get on with it.” He ran his palm over her hip and down her thigh possessively, because really? What the fuck did she mean by that?
“Did you always want to belong to a motorcycle club?”
“I didn’t know what a club was until I saw the worst of them. We rode with the Swords, one of the nastiest clubs on the planet. They ran a huge human trafficking ring and treated women and children like shit. I loved the brotherhood I shared with my people, and riding on my Harley, but didn’t want anything to do with the Swords. I didn’t want to be like them. We came into contact with other clubs, and over the five years we rode with the Swords, we learned not all clubs were like the Swords. Czar set the rules for us, and we knew it was our best way to function in society.”
Her hand moved to his scalp, fingers beginning that slow massage he had come to love. From the first time she’d ever done that, she’d made him feel cared for.
“So, what the fuck did you mean when you said for once in your life you wanted to be someone’s first?”
Seychelle shifted her weight from her bottom to her hip. He turned his head slightly so he could look up at her face. There was no pain there, none in her eyes, but there was some other emotion that had his gut knotting. She looked almost haunted. Those teal-blue eyes looked sad. Deep sorrow. The kind that didn’t just go away easily.