“Well?” I asked.
“Let me look for a second.”
“No. I’ve been waiting long enough. Get up here,” I ordered, making him smile.
I loved the way the skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled; it was like he didn’t just smile with his lips, but his entire face. Gorgeous.
He moved in behind me, and I leaned forward so he could scoot his knees under me and between mine. He ran his hands down my back from neck to tailbone, and tears hit my eyes at the familiar gesture.
“You ready?” he rasped, reaching down to position himself as one of his hands gripped my hip.
“For fucking months now,” I smarted back, the words turning into a yell when he got sick of my smart mouth and jerked my hips down until I was full of him.
“You okay?”
“Stop asking!” I griped, moving my hips against his hands.
“There’s my girl,” he replied. “Take it, Ladybug.”
He let go of my hips, reaching around to hold my breasts and tweak my nipples as I rode him.
Both of us were breathing heavily, and my head fell heavy against his shoulder when his hand slid down my belly in a soft caress and didn’t stop until he’d reached where our bodies connected.
“You wanna come again, beautiful?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
“So polite. Where’s the filthy-mouthed woman I’ve been living with for the past three months? Hmm?”
His fingers twisted, and his breath shuddered against my skin before he bit down on the back of my neck, pushing me over the edge.
Holy hell, I’d missed that.
“I love you,” I said with a sigh as he held me close and lowered me to the bed.
“I love you too, Ladybug,” he whispered into my neck.
Chapter 38
Casper
Farrah was passed out across the bed. She’d moved around so much trying to get comfortable that she’d ended up completely sideways, with her head resting on my lower stomach and her hands in one of my armpits. The way her body was positioned looked ridiculous . . . and beautiful. I propped a pillow underneath my head so I could stare.
Her body had grown curvier and curvier as her pregnancy progressed, and it wasn’t just her belly. Her ass, legs, arms, and tits had grown too. Even her face had changed, her cheeks rounding out and her lips swollen into a pout that was as sexy as hell. It was like looking at a completely different woman, still just as beautiful, but in a different way.
She looked like some sort of fertility goddess.
I ran my fingers through her hair as she slept, and hated myself.
God, I’d been such an idiot. I hadn’t touched her in so long that I’d felt like my dick was going to fall off, but I thought that was what she wanted. After her surgery, she’d been out of commission for about six weeks, and we’d gotten into a pattern by then that I hadn’t been able to shake.
Farrah had never been shy about sex. We’d tried everything, and more often than not she’d initiated it. So when she wasn’t pushing me or asking for it, I’d assumed that she just wasn’t feeling it. And you know what they say about people who assume.
Christ.
I should have known. I really should have. Because here was the thing about Farrah—if she was sure about someone, she was an open book, but if she wasn’t sure, she closed up tighter than a bank vault. I knew that. But after her discussion with Slider and my complete fuckup, she hadn’t been sure about me anymore and I’d missed it. She’d needed the reassurance that I still wanted her in order to get to the place where she’d ask me for what she deserved from me. And I hadn’t given her that reassurance.
Instead, I’d walked around on fucking eggshells, trying to show her how much I loved her without stepping on her toes.
My head was still so fucked up from that shit in Portland, I couldn’t tell which way was up.
The whole time I was trying to give her fucking space, she’d been waiting for me to make the first move. Me—the guy who had left her on the fucking bathroom floor while her appendix was close to bursting because he thought she’d been out partying. The guy who could have killed her because his head was so far up his ass he couldn’t even see what was happening right in front of him. She’d waited for me to figure my shit out and take charge like I had before, but somewhere along the way I’d lost my balls and hadn’t done it.
What a goddamn mess.
The woman I’d killed in Portland had been Ramon’s daughter, and that shit was messing with my head. I wasn’t sure if it would have been easier if she’d just been some McCafferty whore, but I thought it probably would have been. Then I wouldn’t have had to deal with the fallout.
Ramon’s wife and teenage daughter had been in the club when we’d gotten back, and I’ll never forget the sobbing I’d heard when she realized that he hadn’t come back with us. We’d ended up leaving his body with his daughter’s for the police to find, hoping that they’d assume all the players had been killed for the same reason. Drugs. We’d left him like the traitor he was, and I knew none of the boys felt comfortable with it, including Poet, who’d made the call.
After Poet had ushered Ramon’s wife, Roberta, into one of the back rooms, her screams had echoed through the clubhouse.
I’d never forget the sound of that as long as I lived.
I knew logically that I hadn’t had a choice. Carmella had shot Slider and wouldn’t have hesitated to keep shooting if I hadn’t dropped her, but that didn’t make it any easier. I’d been raised to protect women, to coddle them and make sure they were safe. It was one of the things that my dad had been absolutely relentless about, teaching me from the time I was old enough to understand that women were made to be protected, that it was my job to look after my sister and any other women in my life.