“Babe, I told you I was going to hell. Might as well do anything I want. And that’s mild in comparison to all the things I think about saying and doing.”
Her laughter was contagious. “You should have seen your face last night when the Red Hat ladies showed up at the bar to hear me sing. All those darling ladies, Zyah’s grandmother leading the way. She’s so cute, by the way. I adore her, and she adores you. Obviously the two of you have a past, and she made it clear last night that you, Destroyer, Maestro and Player are her little darlings.”
“You’re going to get yourself in trouble if you bring that up,” he growled against her pristine skin, settling his teeth against her in warning.
She didn’t pay him heed in the least. “Who knew you were so popular, Savage? All those sparkly hats and all of them wanting to dance with you. I had more requests for songs. The other bikers in the bar last night were quite enthusiastic about making certain the right music was requested. Everyone had ideas. I even saw Jackson and Jonas slip in. They were grinning from ear to ear, and at first it looked as if they might have been there on official business.”
That did it. At the mention of the cops, there was no way he was going to be a saint. Savage rolled and took her with him, so that she sprawled over the top of him, her sore, bare ass in the air, legs on either side of his hips. Her amazing blue eyes laughed right down into his, causing his heart to perform some silly, weird melting sensation. He rubbed her bottom, hoping she would consider that a threat.
“You didn’t tell me I had so many rivals for your affection. I went into that blind. All those ladies giggling. They brought cookies, Savage. There were plates of cookies with your name on them.”
If a man like him had the ability to blush, he might actually have done it when the Red Hat ladies marched in with their crazy purple-and-red hats and their wild clothing, as if each had tried to outdo the others in outlandish skirts and layered dusters. Secretly, he applauded them for their carefree apparel and their insistence on living out their lives the way they chose. If they wanted to go to a biker bar dressed as a cross between fairy godmothers and something out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, more power to them.
Ten of the Red Hat women had shown up, all bearing plates of cookies. And then Zyah, Player’s wife. She had come along to keep an eye on her grandmother. Anat Gamal, her grandmother, had unofficially adopted all of Torpedo Ink as her grandchildren. Savage wasn’t going to admit to his woman that he might really be one of the favorites, because she would give him no end of grief over it. She was already far too amused over how the evening had played out.
“I shared the cookies with you, you little monster,” he pointed out. He kissed the hollow of her neck. She always smelled so good—a wild strawberry fragrance that was just so subtle.
“You weren’t very generous with the bar.”
“They were snickering.”
“Because you wouldn’t dance. Those ladies wanted to dance.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You dance with me.”
“You’ve got something I want, baby.”
“What would that be?” She traced one of his scars with her tongue, and then the tattoo that ran over the top of it.
“That mouth of yours. Love your mouth, Seychelle. I’m going to love seeing your lips stretched around my cock. You’ve got the most amazing tits. Firm and round, more than a handful. Impressive nipples, and you let me play. I’ve decided to see if I can make you come for me just by playing with your nipples, baby. Your sweet little pussy. It’s hot as hell and so tight you strangle my cock when I’m inside you. Then there’s your perfect ass. I love the shape of your ass cheeks, the way they show my marks. The way they bounce when I strike them. I think about fucking your ass while you scream and come over and over even though you don’t want to, and it makes me so hard, I think I’ll explode. So, yeah, I’ve got reasons to make the effort to dance with you and make a fucking fool out of myself.”
All the while he spoke in a low, velvet tone, he rubbed her sore cheeks gently. He could feel her heat growing as he continued. He slid his fingers lower, between her legs, to find her slick, just like he knew she would be. She was always responsive to him. He loved a hell of a lot more about her than he told her. It wasn’t all physical; in fact, there was a lot that wasn’t physical, but making more of a fool of himself than he already looked with those women wasn’t happening.
“Is that why you dance with me, honey?”
She rubbed her chin on his chest and then looked up at him, those long lashes feathering over her eyes and then lifting, nearly stopping his heart.
“Maybe. Or maybe I just like to hold you.” He was rewarded with her smile. It was slow, curving those full lips so that her straight little teeth gleamed at him and her eyes picked up a shine.
“Maybe you are a fucking choirboy after all, Savin Pajari.” She lifted her head and framed his face with both hands, looking innocent and sweet as only Seychelle could do. “It never lasts more than five seconds, but in those five seconds, that choirboy deserves all those Red Hat ladies and their adoration and cookies. I’m absolutely certain of it.”
She leaned down and kissed him. Just a brush of her lips, but she gave him a taste of wild strawberries. Just a small elusive hint that lingered in his mouth. He had to resist fisting her hair and holding her head in place while he devoured her. She was still in teasing mode. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and bit down gently, trapping that soft curve and pulling it in warning, narrowing his eyes at her.
She giggled like a little kid, forcing him to release her. Immediately, she rolled off of him and scooted to the headboard, her favorite place. He pulled her legs down so he could lay across her hips, pillowing his head on her belly, his favorite place.
“You really didn’t mind all those women there last night, did you?” she asked.
“That’s your question? You’re going to waste one of your questions on a silly one like that?” She knew the answer.
Hell no, he didn’t mind. It ruined his badass image, but then one look at him restored it immediately. He liked the old ladies, particularly Anat Gamal. There was just something about those older women that got to him. They needed someone to defend them, he was there. He wasn’t the only one that thought that way. All of Torpedo Ink did.
“No, baby, I didn’t mind them coming out to hear you sing. They had a good time, and the bar wasn’t too crowded. It would have been different if we’d had a couple of clubs standing off against each other, but last night no one was there challenging each other, and the ladies had their night of fun.”
He rubbed her hip. This was what they did together. Lay on her bed and asked questions. The rule was, they had to answer honestly. They’d started their relationship that way, and he always enjoyed hearing her answers and her questions. “What bothers you most about our club?”
He looked up at her, watched her face. She bit her lip, not wanting to answer. He’d hoped he’d been wrong and she wasn’t bothered about the club, but it was clear she was. He’d known she wouldn’t like the question, but she wasn’t a coward, his woman. She might take her time, but she wouldn’t call a halt to their game.