Kinsley finishes wrangling me into what she considers submission, but it's really just me watching her take care of me while she's naked. She forces me into the shower to clean the blood off my body. It’s fun to hear her squeal when I drag her in too, considering she also has my blood all over her.
Kinsley tosses a towel at me and walks to the bedroom. Hers, not the one with her art stuff.
By the time I reach the doorframe, tucking the towel in at the waist, she’s dragging a t-shirt over her head, just in time to see the dark gray fabric cover her very sweet ass.
Then she turns around, and my fists and jaw clench.
There is an MC patch over her breast. The Iron Vultures, who I’ve never heard of. I want to fucking tear through them for ever having been anywhere close enough to give her this shirt.
Without thinking, I stalk over and tug it off her, then rip the damn thing in two.
Crowding her against the bureau, I put one hand on her neck, with the other I take hold of one of her tits, using my palm to manipulate her nipple until it’s hard against my skin.
That was a calculated move on her part, and one I am not shocked by. She wants me riled up. Kinsley stares at me like she wants to rip my face off, and it makes me smirk.
“You’re an asshole,” she says. “I love that shirt. I bought it at a vintage store back in LA. It’s comfortable to sleep in. And you tore it in half. How many shirts are you going to ruin.”
All of them if they’re like this one. “There is no way you’re wearing another man’s patch.”
“Want me to wear yours?” She jokes, and her eyes widen when she sees the burning look in mine.
I want to say it’s out of anger, but that would be a lie. It’s more about jealousy of her wearing some other MC patch, even if it was some secondhand piece of shit.
“I’m pretty sure the Iron Vultures were on a TV show.” She pushes me back so my hands fall away from her chest. “But it’s fun to see you jealous.”
“I’m not fucking jealous.”
I grip the towel at my waist as she picks up the pieces of her destroyed shirt with a forlorn expression. She grabs another one that is much bigger on her, with gaping armholes that do little to hide the sides of her tits, so I’m happier about that.
“Right,” she mumbles.
Kinsley climbs onto the bed and sits back against the headboard, her knees drawn up. From the angle I’m standing to the bed, I can see everything between her legs and my dick twitches.
I should go burn off the rage, or confront Nero at the very least, but I don’t want to do either of those things. I’m still pissed, but the rage simmering at the top has taken a nosedive because of her.
She watches with her lips parted as I drop the towel and climb onto the bed beside her, tugging the covers over my hips.
“What are you doing? Are you… You don’t think… You’re not staying here,” she stutters out.
“Think of it as saving a life. If I leave, I might kill someone.”
“You say that like your actions will be onmyconscience,” she huffs.
“I’m fine where I am,” I say with a smirk.
“You weren’t invited.”
I lean over and lift her enough to shove her legs under the covers. She slaps my arm to stop me manhandling her. Her attempts are futile as I get her under the covers and press my arm down over her stomach to hold her in place. When she tries to push me off, I wince and jerk my arm back.
“Oh shit,” she grabs my hand. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
It hurt, but not enough for her to be as worried as she is. I’ve been shot twice and stabbed before, and fuck knows how many fights I’ve been involved in over the years. I make a face as if it hurt, and she stops fidgeting, worry etched in her features.
I shouldn’t stay, I shouldn’t enjoy the way she is touching me as she checks for further damage to my hand. Kinsley says nothing as I lie back, putting my other arm behind my head and staring up at her ceiling.
I’m fucking tired, and what little calm came over my brain when it was all tangled up in Kinsley is ebbing.
Just once I want to forget everything going on with the club. I need another distraction.
