I guess I can accept that. I definitely sensed some weirdness between her and her uncle. Not that I held much respect for Merlin before tonight anyway. “I can’t believe you’re related to him.”
“Yeah, me either,” she answers dryly. “Turn here.”
“It’s an alleyway.”
“I have a parking spot back there.”
I navigate the tight turn and move slowly over the narrow strip of pavement. I hit the button to slide my window down and pull my side mirror in. To my surprise, Charlotte does the same on her side. “Thanks.”
“You’re like a country boy in the big, bad city,” she teases. “Right there,” she says, pointing to a patch concrete on the left.
“Can I take up the whole thing?”
“Yup. The upstairs neighbors don’t own a car. They bicycle everywhere. My car’s at my mother’s.”
“You need to go pick it up?”
“Nah, Carter will come pick me up tomorrow. I don’t need it until Monday.”
“I can take you over there tomorrow if you want.”
The offer seems to surprise her because she’s quiet again.
I shut off the truck and turn to face her. “Did you want to go somewhere else first? Are you hungry?”
Again, she seems surprised. Do I really give off such dickish vibes that taking her out to eat seems like a stretch?
“I had dinner earlier. At my mother’s.”
“Was she at the party?”
She snorts. “No. She guilted me into going and then skipped out herself. She and Chuck have a complicated relationship.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I open my door and ease down out of the truck slowly. On my way to her side, I examine the area.
She leads us through a narrow sidewalk between two old brick buildings and takes a right. Her building is an old brownstone with a jacked up set of front steps someone probably should’ve fixed in the eighties.
“I’m surprised you don’t live in Slater County,” I blurt out.
She snorts in response. “Why? Because my uncle would make sure I was protected if I lived in his territory instead of yours?”
Well, yeah.
Not that my club would ever bother her.
Unlike the Vipers MC who used to run Ironworks until we drove them out, we don’t involve women in our disputes. So no, Charlotte wouldn’t have anything to fear from my club.
I’m not even sure why I asked. We’re not exactly on a date here.
Except, I actually like her.
And last time, she ran out on me.
This time, she’s not getting away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
At first, I’m confused about Teller’s interest in my life. I guess it makes sense, though. He found out I’m related to the president of a rival club. I’m sure it rattled him the same way it freaked me out when I realized he was a Lost King. Thankfully, he’s more polite about it than I was.
“Watch your step,” I warn as he follows me up the front stairs.
It’s never occurred to me to be embarrassed about my apartment. The place is small. Some people might consider it shabby. I prefer to think of it as eclectic and lived-in. It’s nothing fancy, but at least I’m not living with my mother. Still, I find myself nervous as I slide my key in the front door. I’m not in the habit of having guests over. My brother, my best friend, a few law school friends who are just as broke as I am, the occasional date, and that’s about it. I work too many hours to be concerned with entertaining people.
What the fuck am I thinking? Marcel isn’t here to evaluate my living conditions.
He’s here for sex.
Well, at least I hope he is.
I could’ve strangled my brother for opening his big mouth, but the dry spell he blabbed about, unfortunately, was not a lie.
Remembering the rough way Marcel handled me the last time has me ready to toss my panties and bend over the end of my couch the second I cross the threshold.
Except, when he closes the door behind us, he puts his back to it and stares at me. Not in the commanding you’re-mine-now way he did three years ago. More of an uncertain gesture.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I slip off my shoes and pad into the kitchen, expecting him to follow. When I turn to ask what he wants, I realize he’s still in the living room. “Water?” I shout.
“That’s fine.”
He’s still standing with his back to the door when I return.
Is he having second thoughts? I know the party was full of hotter girls, but I remember us having pretty good chemistry. Or maybe that’s my version of events. Maybe his recollection of our last encounter is completely different.
“Is everything okay?” I ask as I hand him the water.
He takes the glass and downs half of it before answering. “I’m fine.”
“Do you want something to eat?”
“No.”
His hungry eyes roam over my body. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was a starving man eyeballing a ham sandwich. Yet, he doesn’t move a muscle. The intense, penetrating stare unnerves me given how calm and disinterested he seems.
I take a few cautious steps closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
He’s coiled so tight. I don’t know what to make of his behavior. Last time he took the lead.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to force some guy to spend the night if he’d rather be elsewhere. I’m not that pathetic.
“Do you want to go?” I ask.
“No,” he answers in a rigid voice.
Closing the distance between us, I press my body up against him, lean up on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper against his ear.
He tilts his head, brushing his lips over my ear. “Me too.”
At least that’s more encouraging.
I slide my hands under his leather cut, over the soft fabric of his T-shirt and his muscles tense underneath my fingers.
“What’s…” the question dies on my lips as our eyes meet. They’re full of pain, sorrow, and desire.
Does his hesitation have something to do with his accident? I’m not sure how or even what questions to ask. Which is unusual since I make my living crafting questions and dragging information out of people.
My hand slides down along his belt to the fly of his jeans.
Definitely interested.
“Charlotte,” he cautions.
I slick my tongue over my bottom lip and watch his eyes follow the movement. “What?” I lean up and press another kiss to his cheek, then his neck, slowly working my way down and lowering myself to my knees.
“What’re you doing?” he asks in a low, gravelly voice.
My hands go to his belt working it loose. “You need to ask?”
One of his hands closes over mine. “Wait.”
I glance up, patiently anticipating his next words.
“I’m all fucked up.”
I squeeze and run my hand over his cock gently through his jeans. “You feel good to me.”
Finally he lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, that works fine. I mean, I’ve got a lot of scars from my accident.”
I’m not used to men like him sharing their vulnerability with me.
I’m used to them acting like defensive assholes.
Marcel’s so different.
“Everyone has scars.” My gaze collides with his intense stare. “They just mean you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you.”
His eyes widen and he traces his fingers along my jaw. “Get up.”
“But I haven’t even started,” I protest.
That edge of ferocity that I remember from our first encounter enters his eyes. He grabs me by my arms and hauls me to my feet. Then to my utter shock, he drops his shoulder and throws me over it. I yip and squeal, kicking my legs. “What the hell are you doing?”
He pops me on the ass once. “Quiet down. Wh
ere’s your bedroom?”
“Put me down.”
“I’ll find it on my own.”
I keep still, afraid he’ll drop me, but a few seconds later, he’s tossing me on my bed. I’m so glad I took five minutes to fix my sheets and blankets this morning. At least I won’t give off the impression I’m a complete slob.
He reaches over and flicks on the small lamp sitting on my nightstand. Without taking his eyes off me, he shrugs out of his cut and drapes it over the back of my desk chair.
His gaze lands on my T-shirt. The one proclaiming me family of the Wolf Knights MC. Before he has the opportunity to make the request, I whip off the shirt and toss it as far from us as possible.
While I might have been smart enough to make my bed earlier, I didn’t go to my uncle’s clubhouse with the intention of getting laid. The exact opposite, actually.
Therefore I’m wearing my most unsexy black cotton bra. It’s seriously hideous, even faded in spots from multiple washings. But it’s soft and comfortable and does the job keeping me fully covered and contained.
Marcel doesn’t seem to notice. He threads his fingers into my hair, tilting my head back and presses a hungry kiss against my lips. “You’re even sexier than I remembered and I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Thank you.” I slide my hands over his chest. “Can I take this off?”
He nods and pulls back. I run my fingers under his shirt, brushing hot, smooth skin as I kneel up, pulling the shirt with me. He helps by grabbing it and tossing it. “This is new,” I whisper, tracing my fingers over the Lost Kings MC emblem covering his left pec.
“Anniversary,” he mumbles.
I run my gaze over his torso and arms. He’s harder and more muscled than I remember. Inked heavier too. The Lost Kings tattoo only one of many new additions. The full sleeves covering his arms are darker and more filled in. I don’t have time to absorb all the details though.
While Marcel might have had a few moments of hesitation before, he’s shaken it off. His hands are already at my jeans, working the button loose and trying to tug them over my hips. “Down boy,” I tease, slapping his hands away.
He growls and attacks my pants even harder and I shove my palms against his chest. “I’m not finished.”
That seems to amuse him. My hand cups his crotch, slightly rubbing his growing bulge. “Let’s get you out of these. I don’t want that monster cock of yours to suffocate.”
“Jesus.” He chokes on his laughter. After a minute, he reaches out, gripping my hair and holding it in a rough ponytail. I take it as a sign he wants me to continue.
Blow jobs aren’t exactly my favorite thing, but for some reason, I’m eager to get my mouth on him. From what I remember, he’s pretty selfless and will return the favor tenfold. My mouth waters and I lick my lip as my hands work his belt loose, slide down the zipper and release his cock.
He’s thick and hard, just as I remember. I glance up and find him watching me with expectant eyes. No reservations this time. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he waits for me to continue.
I open my mouth and take a gentle lick. He lets out a hiss and a curse. His free hand palms the side of my head while his other one tightens in my hair. Holding his gaze, I grasp him firmly around the base of his erection and open my mouth.
“Fuck, Charlotte,” he whispers in a worshipful way that creates a red-hot desire to please him.
I close my mouth over him and he lets out a harsh breath. “That’s it. Suck my cock.”
My answering hum makes his head fall back, but he keeps his hands on my head and in my hair. I’m throbbing with my own need, but focus on pleasing him, taking him deeper into my mouth. Working my lips, tongue, and hands up and down.
Our eyes meet, and he nods. “Keep going.” He flashes a smile that borders on affection, making me feel completely safe.
Reaching up, I grip his hips, pulling him closer.
“Oh, fuck. Yeah,” he praises.
I move faster up and down his shaft.
He releases his hold on me and shoves his jeans and underwear down over his hips allowing me to move in closer. His hands go back to my head, holding me tight while he thrusts into my mouth. Each stroke takes him further until he’s in my throat. I gasp and gag, and he slows down.
“Get in the middle of the bed,” he rasps, pulling himself free from my lips with a popping sound.
My lips push into a pout. “I’m not finished.”
A low growl eases out of him as he reaches around to unclasp my bra. “You keep going and I’ll be finished. Now get in the bed.”
I fall back against my pillows laughing and he shucks his pants off and lands over me. “You’re really fucking beautiful,” he says, grabbing my breasts and sucking one nipple into his mouth.
“Oh!” The sensation of his tongue against me arches my back and I rotate my hips.
“Mmm, let’s get these off.” He tugs my jeans down my legs and stares at my black cotton panties. They match my bra perfectly in the ugly department. I don’t think he cares though. His fingers slip between my legs, gently rubbing over the thin cotton crotch, tracing my lips through the material. “Nice and wet,” he murmurs, sucking my other nipple into his mouth and lashing it with his tongue.
“Shit. Oh, fuck.”
“Like that?”
“God, yes. Please don’t stop.”
“I’m nowhere near finished with you, Charlotte.” His low voice sends shivers over my skin. “I’ve been waiting three years to get back inside you.”
I let out a soft snort. “Oh, please.”
“You’re the one who ran from my bed, sweetheart,” he points out. His fingers slow their movement, and I grunt in frustration.
“As if you have relationships with your conquests.”
He pulls back, serious eyes drilling into me. “Fair enough. But you didn’t even give me a chance.”
Is he actually hurt? I study his unrelenting stare, and yes, I think he’s hurt.
The heat or whatever this is between us ratchets up another notch and then he glances away from me. Maybe he regrets the brief display of vulnerability. I don’t have a chance to ponder it, because he slides down my body, kissing and licking as he goes.
He teases his fingers under the edge of my underwear and smiles up at me. “You weren’t planning to hook up tonight, were you?” he asks. Not in an insulting-my-choice-of-underwear way. Just a statement of fact.
“Hell no.”
He chuckles and curls his fingers into the material, dragging it down my legs. I help by picking up my feet and he wraps his hands around my ankles, spreading me wide. Gently he places my feet on the mattress where he wants them.
A low groan works out of him and he traces his fingers through my wetness. He places his palm over my mound, running it over the neat little patch of hair I keep there. He raises an eyebrow. “I always liked this. Never got to tell you that before.”
His thumb works over my lips and up to my clit for a few seconds dialing up my need for him even more.
“Please.”
“Shh.”
He stretches out on his belly, legs bent with his feet in the air, making himself comfortable between my legs.
Like he plans to be there for a while.
Butterfly-light, he traces his tongue over my skin over and over, dipping inside briefly.
“Oh my God, please don’t stop.” My fingers grip his hair tight and he glances up from between my legs, slowly licking his upper lip.
“Tell me this isn’t a one-night thing,” he growls.
The question throws me. “What? Why?”
“You’re not running out on me this time.” He glances at my bed. “And you’re sure as fuck not getting rid of me easily.”
“I—” my words skip out of my brain when he dips his head and flicks that magical tongue over me again.
“Say it,” he demands with a quiet intensity. “Say it, and I’ll make you come so fucking hard, Charlotte.”
<
br /> That’s just cruel. I remember exactly what his tongue is capable of. “Where do you think this can go?”
And why? Why would he want to see me again?
He pulls at my skin, exposing my clit and gently flicks his tongue over it.
“Like that?” he mumbles.
“Oh!” I squirm, trying to shove my pussy in his face to shut him up.
His hands grip my hips, holding me still. “You want more? You know what to do.”
He moves one hand off my hip and slides a finger inside me, turning and rubbing gently. Enough to make my legs quiver, but not enough to get me off.
My fists pound the mattress. “Fine! This isn’t our only night.”
A devilish smile curves his lips. “Now, was that so hard?”
“You know why it’s a bad idea,” I say a little calmer.
A more serious expression settles over his face. “Let me worry about that.” He slips another finger in me, slowly drawing them in and out. “You worry about coming on my face.”
I pick up my head and meet his eyes. “You better get your face in there if you want me to do that.”
The bed shakes with his laughter, and he uses both hands to spread my thighs and bury his face against me. After that, there’s no more laughter. Just the sounds of his tongue licking against my skin, lapping at me. Devouring me with long, slow open-mouth kisses and leisurely licks.
The bed squeaks underneath us as I arch my back and struggle against his hold. My fingers twist in his hair again and he murmurs an encouraging sound but doesn’t let up.
“Fuck. Right there.”
He glances up. “Play with your nipples for me.”
I release a huff of frustration. “Why’d you stop?”
“One, you’re ripping out my hair. Two, I’m having fun.”
I grumble as I bring my hands to my breasts, slowly pinching my nipples. “Very pretty,” he murmurs before continuing.
That tongue of his is something else. He knows exactly how to lick and flutter it against me. Instead of using a sloppy-dog-lapping method like some guys, he uses the perfect bit of pressure against my clit.
I can’t say how long he’s down there before my body tightens, ready to go off.
If he stops again I might kill him. That’s how wound up I am.