Page 21 of Rough Return

“No. Try again.” He brought one of her hands to his mouth and sucked her fingers, laving them with his tongue. When he withdrew them from his mouth, he used them to tease her nipple then blew softly until it pebbled. This time, he licked her fingers and watched her watching him. Her eyes clouded, and she threw her head back. By far the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

“Lick me, Grier.”

And he couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t make her ask for more. He flicked his tongue over her clit, once, twice, again, always withdrawing until she tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him against her.

He pulled away long enough to spin her to her back on the sofa. “Tease your nipples for me, Fiona.” She had her eyes closed but moved her hands to her breasts. He bit his lip to keep from groaning even as his cock twitched, straining against his jeans. He situated between her legs, licking, teasing, fucking her with his fingers while she kneaded her breasts and tweaked her nipples. This was hotter for him than any sex he’d ever had. And that was before she bucked and twisted, screamed, and whimpered. Before she cried out his name and pressed her heels into the sofa cushion to bring her hips higher.

Tonight might have started out for Fiona, but it ended with her in his arms, covered in a blanket she kept on the back of the sofa. A night he would remember for as long as he lived.

Five days so far. Fiona had survived five days without her father. She shivered and reached to the panel in front of her seat to switch down the air conditioner. Even inside the limousine with the tinted windows up, she could hear the roar of motorcycles. Hundreds of them. The Demons leading the hearse and limousine, other clubs falling in behind, the death of a well-respected leader blurring the lines between hate and admiration, between discourse and saying goodbye.

Grier sat beside her, not touching. He hadn’t even looked at her since that morning—was it only a week ago?—when she awoke, naked with her body wrapped around his. He’d not even stayed long enough for her to get out of the shower. Oh, he’d done the husband things required when a father-in-law dies. He’d helped her order flowers, pick a casket, arrange the service, but beyond holding her hand as she sat in the funeral director’s office, she hadn’t so much as laid eyes on him until now.

She glanced over now. Even in profile, he was beautiful. The kind that made her mouth dry and her heart thump, even on the day she had to look at a box to say goodbye to her father. He stared out of the window, probably wishing he was on a bike, leading her father to his final resting place. But he slid his hand across the seat and threaded their fingers together, gave her a squeeze that offered comfort, to remind her she wasn’t alone. At least, she interpreted it as such.

The car turned, drove down a long, paved lane to pull in front of a short stone mausoleum with pillars and angel statues. Had she chosen the right place? Putting her father’s ashes in a crypt instead of keeping them with her?

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she swiped them away with the palms of her hands. The driver came around to open her door. No rider would dismount until she stepped out and went to the hearse to carry the urn to the place where it would remain.

Maybe if she thought of it that way, separated the idea of her father from the black glass urn emblazoned with a motorcycle on its face, she could get through this with her heart intact. She took a deep breath and pictured Max, stern, but gentle. You can do this, he would’ve said. Get out of the car and put me away where I belong.

And she would have been fine had Grier not turned her chin to face him. “I’m here, okay?”

She should have been seething with anger. Should have resented him for leaving her to wither through the nights alone, to suffer her thoughts with no one to talk to, no one to be with her as she agonized her losses and the choices she’d made. Instead, she nodded. Let his touch soothe her.

“Thank you.”

Her chest ached, the tangible pain of a broken heart, but she owed Max so much. The least she could do, the very least, was honor him in a way that would make him proud of her, that would show her strength, her respect, how much she loved him.

She climbed out of the car, and only then did Grier step out on his side and come around to stand beside her. He guided her to the hearse where she stood, surrounded now by the Demon brotherhood her father had created. Frank and Nate, two of her father’s most trusted friends, flanked her and Grier while the others fell in. Jez had ridden with Nate, and she stood a step behind Fiona, tissue-dabbing her eyes with one hand and squeezing Fiona’s shoulder with the other. Jez had been her father’s “special” friend.

One-eye Jim stood to the side of the hearse, his head bowed and his eyes wet. All these men, the strongest she’d ever known or met, stood there with tears and shaking shoulders. Her men now.

The thought humbled her, and she glanced into each of their faces. She would earn their respect. She would lead them. She would make sure her father’s legacy live on, survive for generations into the future.

Grier nudged her shoulder as Jim handed the urn to Frank who handed it to Jez who handed it to Nate who handed it to Nicky. On her father’s ashes went so each man could have a second holding greatness before it made its way to Grier who handed it to Fiona.

Fiona closed her eyes, held the urn then followed the preacher into the crypt. Her father would have hated this whole thing. He would have wanted to go out in some hail of gunfire, with a lot of alcohol, a lot of women, and all the guys sitting around talking about their glory days, more specifically the way back whens of her father’s glory days, when no other group dared question the Demons. Instead, she’d hauled him out here, to a cemetery in the middle of nowhere, where he would be alone… all alone for eternity.

She’d only walked three steps, but turning back, it looked like miles. She searched for Grier in the crowd, and when she found him, she shook her head. “I can’t do this.”

He broke through the crowd of men watching her and closed the distance between them. She held her father with an arm crooked around the urn and held Grier with the other around his waist. The symmetry made her smile. Always between them. Where Max had been in life and where he would be in death.

Hands shoved in his pockets, Grier cocked his head, waiting.

“My dad doesn’t belong here.” She gestured to the building behind her. “He belongs with us. With them.” As she glanced away from Grier to the men, the ones who would celebrate her father long into tonight, she knew this was the right thing, the thing her father would have wanted.

Grier nodded and turned to the funeral director who stood beside the hearse. Fiona didn’t hear what they discussed, but when Grier came back, he took her hand. “Let’s take him home.”

This was the right decision. One she could be proud of. And her first as the head of the family business.

* * *

“Could you say that again?”

No way could Grier have heard what he thought he’d heard. He needed to hear the words again. Maybe then his mouth would shut, and he could go on with his life. Single again. Because no damned way had Max added a clause like the one the bad-toupee wearing lawyer had just read.

Instead of reading from the blue-backed pages in his hand, the lawyer set them down and removed his wire-rimmed glasses. “It means Fiona can run the companies attached to the Screaming Demons motorcycle club for the term of two years provided the two of you are married. Should your marital status change or the circumstances of your living arrangements—” He cocked his chin to one side and stared at Fiona who hadn’t moved since he’d finished reading. “You do live together?”