I ruffle the top of his hair a little too roughly and he mock bites the side of my knee.
“You okay with camping?” he says, sounding slightly uncertain. “You aren’t mad we didn’t stay in a hotel?”
“First, I can’t imagine what Judge would say if we stayed in a motel an hour away from Fortune, but second, why would I mind?” I slap at a mosquito and take another drink.
“Don’t know. The fishy smell, the bugs, the hard ground. Take your pick.”
“I want to be with you, Grant.”
He sighs and kisses the place he’d bitten. “I didn’t want to be cooped up in a room. Feels good to be outside with no one watching you, no limits, know what I mean?”
“You were born for the road,” I answer and he tips his head up for a kiss. Leaning over, I press our upside down lips together. It’s a weird sensation. He moves aside and pulls me down on his lap.
“Worked for Spiderman,” I quip.
“That was only for a second. Besides, I like you pressed up tight against me when you’re tonguing me.” His grin is wicked and sends hot spires through my bloodstream. His hand runs up underneath my top. “No bra today.”
“What’s the point?” I push my ready breasts into his chest and rub the hardening tips against the leather of his cut. He’s wearing only a thin, white V-neck T and the cut that his dad had given him at the age of eighteen. On it there are a few patches, one a generational one and another, more morbid, marking his kill. Judge had me sew it on when Grant was inside.
He shoves both palms under my ass and lifts me high against him so that he can nuzzle his nose between my breasts.
“I missed the girls while I was gone. Did you miss me, babies?” He sucks on one and then the other through the tank, leaving a wet spot over both. My hands rest against his shoulders, both balancing and bracing myself. When he lowers me to his lap, his erection provides a sweet friction against my jeans-clad clit.
He presses his lips against mine in lazy desire. We don’t have to worry about anyone interrupting us or anyone discovering us. We could kiss for hours and we do. His hand wends itself into my hair and his mouth opens wider as if he can’t get enough of my taste. I take the time to explore his body. He must have lifted weights in prison. His traps are defined and hard. His biceps are big enough that he could hold me in one hand and I’m not a light girl.
“What are we going to do, sweetness?” Grant murmurs.
I don’t want to think about that. I want to enjoy our time together.
“I don’t know. We didn’t know when you would be released…honestly, I didn’t know if you still would want me when you got out.”
“Chels,” he groans, running his mouth along my neck. “How could you think that? I thought about you every day and night. I thought about this.” He thrusts his hard length against me.
“Still, where would we go? I don’t have a degree or anything. I can’t pay rent with my nail tech earnings.”
“So? We can live together. I make good money at the shop.”
“You think Judge is still going to keep you on if you’re screwing me?”
He sighs, a puff of air skating across my skin. “I think we’re adults. Dad doesn’t own the only chop house in the county. We could go down to Mankato and you could take classes at MSU.”
“You’d leave the club?” I can’t hide the shock.
“I don’t want to, but if I have to…” he trails off. The pleasure in his face has faded and been replaced with some kind of tension.
“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” I say with a grimace and pull him against me, covering his tight lips with my own. After a moment’s hesitation, he gives in. Our tongues slick against each other and our hands find more sensitive places. Mine dig into his shoulders while one of his hands delves into the back of my jeans to palm the top of my ass.
We rock together as we kiss, our bodies enjoying the slow heat building, hotter than the campfire that flickers behind us. But the fire attracts more than moths.
A loud ahem causes us to break apart at the mouth but Grant’s hands in my hair and on my ass prevent me from sliding off. I twist around, still on his lap, still in his embrace and see other campers—a white guy with dirty blond dreads and his equally pale girlfriend—standard Minnesota Scandinavian stock.
“Hey!” The girl waves. “I’m Becca and this is my boyfriend Dane. We’re camping down at the group site. There’s a big party down there if you’re interested. We’ve got a couple of kegs, some food…” She licks her lips as she eyes Grant with interest. “Some fun.”
I push away from Grant. He doesn’t let me go far. His hand remains shackled around my wrist. I settle into his side, a good foot away, but he hauls me close and clamps an arm around me. At first I resist because it’s weird to be touching Grant in public but then a fluttery feeling of excitement swims around me. Here, fifty-some miles north of Fortune, no one knows us. We’re a couple just like the two in front of us. The thought of going to a party, holding Grant’s hand, and being called his girlfriend is too thrilling to resist.
“What time?” I ask. Grant gives me a side eye. You can’t be serious, his gaze telegraphs. I give him a wide eyed smile in return. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
“Um, now, if you want. You can walk with us.”
Grant rises from the table and grabs the four bottles that are left and in a low whisper, “You may want to cover up.”
I look down and sure enough my chest is still wet. In the firelight, maybe no one will notice. I slip inside the tent and pull on my bikini top and slide a red tank over the top. Grant’ll keep me warm if it gets too chilly tonight.
I step out and Grant gestures for Becca to lead the way.
“We’ve got beer,” she says.
“My girl drinks what I provide,” he says flatly. No booze, no weed, no drugs from people we don’t know. That’s the rule Judge pounded into us.
Becca raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “Your funeral.”
We walk on the road which is wide enough for the four of us but Becca pulls me ahead. “Your boyfriend always this fierce?”
I laugh. “Yup.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Nope. He’s watching out for me—aren’t you, babe?”
He winks. “I’m always watching you.”
Becca’s mouth turns do
wn at one corner. “I’m guessing you guys aren’t into the swap scene then.”
I choke a little. “No. Is it that kind of party?”
I drop back and Grant lays an arm around my shoulders, a gesture that Becca doesn’t miss.
“It’s a lot of young people and a lot of alcohol and goodies. Stuff happens.”
“Truth is, Becca, I’m a lot more jealous than my boyfriend so spread the word—he’s taken.” I share a wicked grin with Grant. I can tell he likes my possessive words.
When we get to the party, it’s already full of boozy people.
“Reminds me of the club,” he whispers as we stand at the entrance of a ring of tents surrounding a big campfire. The group camp fits probably twenty tents but there’s no direct car access. These folks had to haul everything here.
He’s right. There are people drunk, blissed out, and already having sex and the moon has only started to make its trek above the horizon.
A guy next to Grant takes in his cut. “Wicked…tattoos, bro.”
Grant fingers the edge of the leather. “Thanks. It’s a family design.”
We share a smirk. The guy offers Grant a hit off a small, hand-rolled joint. Grant shakes his head. He leads me over to a recently abandoned log and pushes me down. I open my legs and as if we’ve done this a thousand times, he settles in between them. Two twists of his wrist and our beers are open.
“I invited Danilo to the homecoming party,” I share in between sips.
Grant laughs. “Wanted to see some fireworks, did you?”
“Not necessarily. Those two must love each other because no matter how many times they break up, they get back together.”
“What if he wants some strange at the party?”
“Ugh, I hate that term.”
“What term?” Becca asks, settling in beside me with a red Solo cup. Her man with the dreads is over at a keg filling his own cup. A girl with long black hair, ripped jeans and a black bikini top has her hand on his ass. Becca doesn’t seem particularly concerned.
“‘Strange’ to refer to other girls,” I say.
“Yeah, it’s an ugly term.”