Blood & Bones - Rev (Blood Fury MC 8)
He paused and turned toward the bed, tucking his cigarette in his mouth and flooding his lungs with quality Amish tobacco. Just smoke and the booze wouldn’t do the trick. He was still wrapped as tight as a rubber band ball. One that was ready to snap and then explode into a thousand tiny pieces.
“I agree. She doesn’t need to know. It won’t change anything. I assume if it didn’t affect her, it shouldn’t affect her future children…”
He blinked. Future children? “Yeah, since we don’t plan on repeatin’ history with the brother-sister fuckin’ thing, I’m thinkin’ her kids will be good.”
“So will yours.”
He blinked again. “So will my what?”
“Kids,” she answered, sounding exasperated. Like she was tired of talking to a two-year-old.
“What kids?”
She shot him an irritated look. “Your future kids. Holy shit, Rev. This is why we’re not going anywhere tonight. Your mind is a fucking mess!”
“No shit,” he muttered, taking another pull off the bottle and chasing it with a deep draw on his hand-rolled.
He never thought about having kids before because he’d first need to get himself an ol’ lady who’d be willing to have them. He was in no rush to claim an ol’ lady, either. He had plenty of time before he would even think about settling down and having only one woman in his bed.
Not only one woman, but the same one. Over and over.
He’d need to find one who wouldn’t annoy the fuck out of him. Or bore him, either.
One who liked to fuck. Was loyal. Would be a good mother to those non-existent snot monkeys.
He shook his head at his stupid thoughts and took another swig of whiskey to wash them away.
“You need food in your stomach if you plan on drowning your problems.”
“Yeah. Later,” he said distractedly. His gaze sliced from her to the drawer of the nightstand. Within two long strides, he was there, ripping it open and pulling out the motel-provided pad of paper and pen.
He went over to the counter that doubled as a desk and sat down, plugging the cigarette between his lips and planting the bottle on the countertop, keeping it within reach. “You know how to pack a bowl?” he threw over his shoulder.
He jumped when her voice came from behind him. “Not like you guys.”
He shook his head. “Grab the shit and bring it here.”
“That sure didn’t sound like an ask. That sounded like a demand.”
He glanced up from the blank pad of paper before him. He twisted in the seat, snagged both of her hands and pulled her between his spread thighs. She extracted one hand free of his and combed it through his hair, her expression switching from annoyed to soft in a second flat.
“I understand your world just got flipped upside down, but don’t take it out on me,” she said softly.
He closed his eyes and gently squeezed the one hand he still held before lifting it to his mouth and brushing his lips over her knuckles.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” came out of her on a wispy breath.
“Sorry for bein’ a dick.”
“You’re not being a dick, your brain is just on overload. I get it. My worry is that if I wasn’t here right now to stop you, you’d be driving home drunk. Or trying to, anyway.”
He had no idea what he’d be doing. Reilly being with him was one reason he had kept a tight grip on his fury. If she hadn’t been, he might be in custody of the pigs right now because, in his rage, he probably would have massacred everyone in that house. If his grandfather was still alive, he also would’ve gone over to that motherfucker’s house and done the same to him.
Not his grandfather. His father. Jesus fuck, his grandfather-father.
He wrapped his arms around Reilly’s waist and buried his face against her stomach, taking a moment to simply breathe. She smelled like a combination of her citrus body wash and whatever detergent she used to wash her clothes. But breathing her in still dulled the razor sharp edge slicing through him a notch.
One hand played along his hair, while her other stroked his back and he realized at that very fucking moment, he’d never been comforted like this. He’d never been held or hugged before this trip with Reilly.
Then he realized maybe Saylor hadn’t, either.
Having sex with someone was just that. Bodies slapping together, plain and simple, until all the parties involved got off. But holding someone because they needed to feel comforted, wanted or even understood… It was an entirely different thing.
He’d been missing this kind of contact his whole fucking life. The only time he’d had anything similar to this was when he snuck into Sarah’s bedroom and held her until she stopped crying. But every time he went in to help settle her to sleep, it made him more annoyed and filled him with even more hatred because he shouldn’t have been the one to do it. Even worse, it shouldn’t have needed to be done in the first place.