“Are you trying to say something, Lamb?”
“No, Sir.” His mouth quirked and amusement danced in the imp’s gaze.
“Don’t push it or I’ll make good on that spanking,” I warned, wrapping my arms around him and dragging him against me again.
He rolled his eyes. “You keep threatening me, but I don’t see you doing anything about it, Sir.”
“Oh, really?” I kissed his cheek and along his jaw. He leaned his chin back, giving me more access to his neck, which I trailed my lips along. “Maybe I should take you home and spank your arse red.”
“Please,” River moaned out, leaning into me as tightly as he could. “But first, I need to fill in King.”
I groaned in disappointment. “Do you think he’d let us keep the money?”
He snorted. “I doubt it, but nice try, Sir.”
I grinned.
18
River
Jayce looked imminently fuckable as he carried that big ol’ sack of money slung over his strong shoulder. The duffel bag was fucking heavy and he didn’t even lean to the side. I breathed out a low groan. He hadn’t picked me up to fuck me yet, and I was seriously hoping that was in the cards for my future because I bet that man was capable. The line of his body as his muscles flexed under his suit had my mouth watering.
He moved with a bounce in his step all the way to the cracked metal door of the King’s clubhouse, and then he was scowling as soon as he stood bathed in the glow of the front light. Most of the time the bulb was dead, either because it burned out unnoticed or someone purposefully broke it, but apparently it had been recently fixed, and the light circled us in a halo of gold.
He was a James Bond wet dream, and holy fuck he’d handled himself so well at the casino. “Talk to me. Tell me you want something shaken, not stirred. Do it.”
That pissed-off expression he wore, twisting down the corners of his mouth and jutting his chin, had my dick on notice and distinctly heavier in my boxers. He spun toward me, and I took the time to run my hand up the front of his soft cotton shirt. The sweet and musky notes of his cologne mingled with the cool damp night air and had my head swimming. Somewhere nearby one of the last crickets of the year chirped, and everything around us was both completely normal, and at the same time entirely skewed. His body heat bled through the shirt fabric to tease my fingertips and made me want to do the most humiliating things to get to the edible skin underneath.
“What?” I murmured. “You’re not a Bond fan? Fine, pick a Mad Man, and if you’re nice I’ll find something frilly to wear when you bend me over, but I am doing things to you in this suit.”
He lifted one blond brow. “Really?”
After the way he’d kissed me earlier I was feeling particularly ready to give him whatever he wanted. “Yes, Sir.”
“No, I mean….” He paused and his mouth hung open for a moment or two before he shook his head. “I’m agitated because we’re here. Again. I’m a simple cop who has been at the King’s hangout how many times in the last several days? I just shouldn’t be here, that’s all. No good will come from it.”
He might have a point, but the fact that he shouldn’t belong someplace I most certainly did irritated me on an instinctive gut level. I traced the tips of my fingers around the collar of his shirt and stopped to run my thumb over the bump of his Adam’s apple. His eyes were oceans tinted with sunset yellow. I got stuck staring, and my mouth went dry as my stomach ran warm. He darted his gaze over my face. “Why can’t you be here?”
He sighed and pushed my glasses up my nose, which had me blinking at him until the world looked right again. “It’s not a good look, me skulking around places like this.” He stopped to stare at one of the painted-over windows and the shitty siding. I bristled. Yeah, maybe it wasn’t maintained well, but it was someplace I’d spent many a long night. “Right now I can claim I’m on the job, at least.”
“You do realize I spend time here? On purpose and everything.” I smacked his chest and suddenly didn’t care to try to be nice because he pursed his lips and managed to look all morally superior, which was one of the fastest ways to infuriate me, no matter who you were. “I’ve been an associate member for years.”
Jayce shoved my hand away and narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” I crossed my arms and shivered. All at once the night air I’d been enjoying so much was too noisy with bugs, and I caught a whiff of dog crap that no one had cleaned up recently.
“Well, good-looking guy like you with an entire city full of options?” He made a noise that sounded all fucking Britishy and derisive. “Have to wonder what brings you flying back here to roost.”
“You mean, what dick do I like to suck here? Jesus, Officer Paxton, filthy fucking compliments like that will get you everywhere.” I heard my snark level rising but didn’t attempt to keep myself in check. I was starting to actually get angry and that was a first for me with Jayce. I hated the way this felt.
Jayce’s nostrils flared. “What I’m sayin’ is, Lamb, you don’t need to drag yourself through the dirt with the Kings.” He jabbed a finger toward the broken front door, and I cringed. The bag swung heavily on his shoulder and slapped against his body.
“Shut your fucking mouth and don’t say that where anyone can hear you.” I found myself getting into his space again, even though I still had my arms squeezed firmly around myself. “I’m not building my life on top of a shanty town, here. The Kings are solid people to know. I just… fuck. I like riding, okay? I don’t do it every day, but I do enjoy it, and I enjoy a lot of other things that come along with the club.”
“Oh, you sure do, don’t you, River?” A cool voice slid out of the darkness back against the house to our left, and I held in a groan. “You liked that cool hundred and seventy thousand that you took home last year, compliments of the Kings. I should know. I cut the checks.” Undertaker slinked into the light. I almost laughed at the “umph” that Jayce let out. Undertaker was wearing a black kilt, black nipple shields, and black leather cuffs around each wrist. He was all muscle, and his abs were cut like fine crystal. I thought we both stared longer than was appropriate, and Undertaker preened, showing us his sharp white canines through his self-congratulatory black-lipstick smile. The fucker loved sneaking up on people.
“Hi,” I finally forced myself to say.
