“Not necessarily. I’ve seen ya in a fight. Know you’re willing to mix it up.” I hugged him, and he scooted the rest of the way over until his forehead was pressed against mine on the pillow. He took the plunge and brought our bodies together, and I moaned when his cock brushed against mine. He nudged us together on purpose, and I slid my hands down to grasp his hips and hold him still. “Fuck, I cannot think when ya do that.”
He smirked and I could see the merry mischief there. He was going the right way to get fucked, and I wasn’t unhappy about it. “You want to know about me?”
“Yes,” I breathed out, and the corner of his mouth turned up.
“Dumb luck.” He rolled his eyes. “I always liked motorcycles. Wanted one. I got a job during senior year of high school and saved up and bought one. The woman who ran the group home didn’t like that, but she couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Group home?” Confused, I frowned, but he only nodded.
“Foster care, remember? The day after graduation, they told me to go. Said they needed the room. I had no real money and didn’t want to sell my bike.” He pursed his lips, and his eyes took on a faraway gleam. I didn’t think he was seeing me right now, even though I was so close in front of him.
“What about King? Ya didn’t deserve that.”
He shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe so. I never did what I was supposed to do there. They were always bitching at me for something. I got a shitty fast-food job. Couldn’t afford rent, even working. A guy I worked with sold weed. Nothing crazy, eighths, mostly. He made a couple hundred dollars per pound.”
“So ya did it too?” I gave his hips a squeeze, and he rested a hand on mine.
“Yeah, I did.” He rubbed his hand over mine. “People liked me because I’m not a bullshitter. I was willing to deliver. I didn’t run my mouth about who was buying from me and didn’t want to smoke their weed after they bought it.”
“Can see where that would hold some appeal.”
“I could finally pay rent, then.” He smiled as if remembering a golden hour. “I’d been couch surfing. I had my bike. Life was okay.”
“Then ya joined the Kings?” I frowned. The timeline on that didn’t add up, so far as I could figure. He shouldn’t still be a prospect from what I knew of the clubs.
“No. I found out when I got the shit kicked out of me that I was selling on Demon turf. My choices were join them as a prospect, do anything they told me, and give them eighty percent of my profit, or they’d knock my teeth in. I think my bike was the only thing that saved me from a hospital visit. I took good care of her and they knew I appreciated her.” He shivered under my hands, and I drew him closer.
“Jesus Christ.” Anger began to churn in my gut.
“I slept in Derrick’s garage for a while. Because I couldn’t pay rent again. He’s the president of the Demons now.”
“But now you’re here.” I glanced around the room like a dumbarse. He only smiled and sighed, burying his face against my chest.
“King saved me. I did… I don’t want to talk about it, but I was getting desperate. I needed to be in with the Demons as more than a prospect. They weren’t voting me in, just to keep me dangling on their line. Kept telling me I needed to prove my loyalty. I did something I’m not proud of now, in order to try to make that happen. Maggot was with me. He’s dead now.”
“It’s okay. Ya don’t have to tell me.”
He huddled against me for a bit, and I ran my hand soothingly up and down his side until he gave himself a shake and took a deep breath. “I don’t know the details, but King made things okay with the Demons, and he made me a prospect for the Kings even though he should have shot me in the face.” Those last words were whispered against my neck.
“He’s your da. He’d never do that.”
“Didn’t know that at the time. But things are getting better.” He nuzzled closer to me, and I stroked my fingertips down the back of his neck, feeling maybe it was inappropriate to be preoccupied with the heavy, needy hard-on driving me nuts while he was baring his soul. All things considered, I was doing okay by him, I hoped.
“What about you? How did you become part of what you do?” He leaned back enough to blink at me, and I dropped a kiss on his cheek.
“Legacy. I’m Irish, darling.”
“No shit.”
I laughed. “Me da was in the Company. Killough likes me. The end. That’s it, really. My life has always been okay.” I shrugged a shoulder. “No fun stories. Some of the boys have tales that would make your hair curl,” I murmured, running my fingers through his straight-as-a-pin blond hair. It was so soft that I did it again, and he leaned into my touch in a way that reminded me sweetly of a kitten. My cock gave another determined throb and I nudged us closer together.
“I’m glad for you.” He gasped and hugged me tight, shifting to rock against me and sending a streak of wonderful pleasure along my shaft.
“Ya ever been to Ireland?”
He laughed. “I don’t have a passport. My trip to New York City was the first time I ever left New Gothenburg.” He pressed harder against me, and I moaned, searching out his lips for a kiss. We made out for a good while, teasing ourselves. He moved his hips in a slow circle that was eroding my ability to think.
“You’ll have to come visit with me,” I murmured against his lips when we took a break for air.
