Standing there in his cut with a bottle of aged rum in his hands, I have to admit that he does seem more like the kind of guy who slams back hard liquor than one who sips wine from a stemmed glass. In this small room with wall-to-wall bottles, I realize I might be starting to like this side of him more than I should.
“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” Slate says quietly.
I know that I’m eating him up with my eyes while remembering all the orgasms he gave me back in Kabul. But I try to act innocent anyway. “What look? I’m not doing anything wrong.”
He leans over me, smelling just like I remember. Something about his scent always drove me wild. Gazing into my eyes, he says what we’re both thinking. “You’re looking at me like you remember exactly how good riding my cock felt. Keep up, and I’ll give you a little reminder.”
I reach out to touch the front of his cut, letting my fingers slide over the warm leather. “You make it sound like a punishment fuck, but we both know that’s not what’s going to happen if we end up in bed together.”
His hand comes out hard and fast around my throat. God, I can’t believe he remembers how much I like it when he takes charge. This man has a mind like a steel trap. Before I can protest, his lips drift down to mine, and he claims his first kiss since we were trapped together at the end of the war. I don’t protest because I realize, in this moment, that another kiss from him is all I want in the world.
His lips are warm and searching. I wrap my arms around his neck and lift my leg around his waist. Suddenly, the bottle of rum is gone, and both of his large hands are under my ass, pressing my body to his as he plunders my mouth like a man who has every right to take what he wants from me.
I don’t know how long we kiss, but it seems like an eternity. Slate is all hot and needy when his tongue slides against mine. And me? I’m totally there for it. I probably should go slow, but I don’t. It’s just a kiss, I tell myself—one long, panty-melting kiss.
We break apart, breathless and aroused. Slate leans his forehead against mine. I expect him to ask to take this upstairs, but he doesn’t. Instead, he tells me, “You’re not ready for what I’m packin’. I don’t wanna be your rebound or the place you run to in order to get away from your daughter’s abusive baby daddy. I want you to take some time to think about what you want and come to me when you’re ready for a real relationship. You’re too important to me for us to waste this second opportunity we’ve been given.”
I’m being cockblocked by my own lies. I never should have let him think my stalker was an ex. I should have told him the truth. Then again, this is a brutal reality check that I don’t have a future to offer Slate. And dragging him into my mess would be wrong on so many different levels. So I let him go, even though every part of me only wants to hold on tighter.
***
By the time we make it back upstairs, Tessa and the club girls are busy heaping food into huge serving bowls. Before we can make it across the room, the five women file out carrying trays, bowls, and baskets of rolls that smell amazing.
I eagerly follow Slate out to the family table and take a seat beside my daughter. Katie is playing her favorite game of making her flatware dance as she sings quietly along. It makes me think she’s bouncing back quickly from what happened back at our old place.
Slate’s club brothers have already claimed seats at a multitude of tables scattered around the room. But his mom, dad, and brothers are at a long family table. It’s weird because Slate sets down the bottle of rum and walks over to the banquet table with his father and Tessa’s husband, Jasper. They all beginfilling plates. At first, I think this is some kind of situation where men eat first.
When Slate picks up a smaller plate and begins to fill it, his brother and father add delicate little rolls, a block of cheese, and a bottle of apple juice. That’s when it dawns on me that the men serve their old ladies.
Sure enough, Slate proudly walks over, sets the larger plate in front of me, and then artfully arranges Katie’s plate in front of her with the cheese cube facing her. Then he opens her apple juice and sets it far enough away from her plate so she won’t accidentally knock it over. When she smiles up at him, he runs his big hand over her hair and tells her, “Eat up, sweetie.”
Before I can get my head around this situation, he wanders back over to the buffet table and makes himself a plate. This time his single brothers go as well. All the club brothers are patiently waiting to fill their plates. That’s when it occurs to me that there is a pecking order in their club. The old ladies get served first, the founding family goes next, then the club brothers. Unless I miss my guess, the club girls come next, and then the prospects. The formality of the whole ritual of eating dinner blows my mind.
Katie tugs at my sleeve. “I eat slow,” she promises before popping that cube of cheese into her little mouth.
“Small bites, Katie,” I whisper the words.
Soon enough everyone is eating, so I dig in as well. I stay quiet and let the conversation flow around me. There’s laughter, teasing each other over past deeds, and stories told as we eat a hearty meal. Along about the time Slate pours a shot of rum for all the adults at our table, I decide that I could get used to living here with my old flame and his family.
Chapter 5
Slate
Iwake up early, drag myself up from the sofa, and stretch my aching back. It’s been five days since we brought Christina and her little girl here. Christina and Katie got up earlier to help my ma prepare breakfast. She doesn’t have to do anything while she’s here, but she wanted to make herself useful.
As I step into the shower and let the warm water flow over my sore muscles, I can’t help but think about her as I rub soap roughly over my body. I’ve been stroking myself like a fuckin’ demon every morning to thoughts of her just to enable me to keep my shit straight around her. Acting like a damn horny teenager around a smart, sexy woman like Christina won’t do.
Still, I can’t stop thinking about that kiss we shared in the liquor vault, the way she responded to me taking charge. It was like we were right back in Kabul. She opened herself to me, wanted me. When she wrapped her leg around my hip, I damn near took her right then and there.
Fuck.
My hand moves quicker over my cock as I remember the way her breasts pressed against me when I held her close. She looks better than I remember. Childbirth has given her lush curves that weren’t there before, the kind of curves that make men weak and reckless.
I was a fuckin’ idiot for takin’ the high road. I should have stripped her bare and reminded her of all the reasons shecouldn’t get enough of me in Kabul. I should have sealed her to me, instead of worrying about being a rebound relationship for her.
My mind drifts back to all the great sex we had four years ago. All I want to do is get back to where we were before. When I remember how she used to look at me, how eager she was to get naked for me, and how she took her time sucking my cock to wring every ounce of pleasure out of the experience for me. When I come, I practically explode against the shower wall. Even totally spent, I can’t stop thinking about her. That’s how I know that I’m totally fucked.
I think over the situation as I pull on my clothes. Christina seems to be fitting into life here at our clubhouse. She’s thick as fuckin’ thieves with both my ma and Tessa. The Jackson family women love her. I shouldn’t be surprised by that. Christina has always been grounded and down-to-earth.
