N9ne: The Tale of Kevin Clearwater (King, #9)(81)

He glances down at the hairs on my arm, now standing on end. He raises a pierced brow. “Are you sure about that?”

I gulp. “Yes.”

I crane my neck to meet his eyes. Big mistake. It only heightens my awareness of him touching me. I bite down on the skin inside my cheek to keep from groaning out loud.

“Fine.” He leans in closer and moves his hand lower. Those same fingers are now trailing up my outer thigh. Another shiver courses through me, although this one isn’t in my spine. It’s more…centrally located.

“How about…” his lips are a breath away from mine. “…looking for your lips?”

I press my lips together and shake my head.

“No?” He chuckles, cupping my cheek as his other hand inches up my skirt, rendering me breathless.

His lips skirt over mine as he speaks. His smile is now gone. His words are dark. Serious. The sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard. I'm squirming in my own skin. “Aching to be inside you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, which is good because I couldn't form one if I tried but also because he presses his lips to mine. Roughly. Passionately. Possessively. Crushing me both body and soul as he lifts me, pushing me against the wall.

The hand up my skirt tugs aside the lace of my panties. He reaches between us to his belt, freeing himself of his jeans.

He presses a long finger inside my wet heat and slowly strokes me, stroking the spot that has me blind with need, rubbing myself on him like an animal in heat, I’m already there, about to burst apart when he lifts me up, and enters me in one long hard thrust.

I raise my hips off the wall as he fucks me furiously. Each time, he brings me closer and closer to the brink until I’m so far gone that I’m only vaguely aware of Nine groaning my name through his own release, flooding me with his warmth. On my way back down from wherever it is that pure bliss has taken me, I hear him counting. “One. Two. Three. Four…”

And so on, until he gets to eight.

I open my eyes. He smiles and drops his forehead to mine, our rapid breaths mingling between us. His voice is a ragged whisper. “Nine.”

“You always stop at Nine,” I tease.

“And I always will,” he says, pressing his lips to mine once more.

“Me, too.” My life is now my own, but I only started living again because of him. I have begun, and I will end the same way our counting game always does.

With Nine.





Bonus Epilogue





NINE





King’s tattoo studio is connected to the garage across the driveway from the main house. King is a fucking artist. If you want a tattoo that looks like something the means something, he’s the man you see. His wife Ray was his apprentice for a few years until she became an artist in her own right.

But his studio isn’t just a for tattoos. It’s sacred. A place where King, Bear, and Preppy get together and lock the rest of the world out. When decisions need to be made, it happens behind those doors.

Which is exactly where they are right now.

I’ve been inside the studio a hundred times. Between King and Ray, they’re solely responsible for every inch of ink on my body, which means that over the past few years, I’ve spent a lot of time inside that studio.

But never after hours. Never when the three of them are behind that locked door.

Bear, King, and Preppy have been running Logan’s Beach for years. It’s their town. I respect the fuck out of that.

Out of them.

That’s why it doesn’t bother me that I’ve never been invited inside. It’s not my place. Sure, I’ve proven myself to them over the last couple of years, but there’s a difference between earning their respect and thinking I somehow deserve to be in that studio after hours.

Which is why I’m wondering why the fuck King asked me here.

I’m standing outside the closed studio door. It’s after midnight. Preppy’s classic Chevy and Bear’s shiny bike are parked out front. They’re all inside. I don’t bother knocking. They know I’m here. They’ll come for me when they’re ready.

“You in trouble?” Ray asks, with a knowing smirk. She comes down from the porch with their youngest daughter on her hip.

“Beats the hell out of me,” I answer, taking a drag from my smoke. “They called me about an hour ago. Told me to be here. So, I’m here.”

“Well, whatever it is, good luck in there,” she says. Before she goes back inside the house, she stops and turns around. Her face lined with worry. “I mean, it, Nine. Good luck. The guys can get really…intense in there.”

So much for calming my fuckin’ nerves.

She enters the house at the same time the studio door opens and Preppy appears in the doorway.

“Come on, kid,” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound like him. Nothing about him screams this is a casual meeting. His expression is flat. There’s no smile. No joking.

“Are you having a stroke or something,” I ask, stubbing out my smoke as I approach.

He blows out a breath. “Not yet, but the night is young.”

He steps aside, and I enter the studio. It’s completely dark, except for the bright green neon King’s Tattoo logo. It’s a skull wearing a crown and a bow tie. The crown for King, the skull representing Bear and the bikers, and the bow tie for my brother.