Reaper's Stand (Reapers MC, #4)(62)

Life was good.





CHAPTER ELEVEN




I was still high off my little revelation when arms came around me from behind, catching the cups I’d been holding and setting them on the table. Then Reese turned me toward him, looking down at me in satisfaction.

“You throw yourself right in, don’t you?” he asked, and I smiled, puzzled. “You’re picking up, helpin’ the girls. I even saw you talkin’ to Painter despite the fact that he’s been sort of an * to you. You like takin’ care of people, don’t you?”

I rolled my eyes, feeling all smug.

“I’m just being polite,” I said. “Who sits around at a party ignoring a mess like this? I’ve had fun hanging out with the other women, too—they seem like a good group. They’re really friendly, and they’ve told me all sorts of interesting things about you.”

“Really?” he asked, smirking. “Why don’t you fill me in.”

With that he drew me away from the table, catching my hand and leading me past the bonfire toward the same corner of the courtyard where I’d talked to Painter earlier. The giant tree sheltered everything, and behind the massive trunk you couldn’t really see the rest of the party. It formed something like an outdoor room back here, with the corner of the courtyard wall ensuring privacy.

Reese grinned at me, then sat down and leaned back against the trunk. I tried to sit next to him, but he caught my leg and tugged it over his waist. I fell off balance and then I was straddling him, hands braced against his shoulders. His own hands caught my waist, pulling my pelvis down and into his.

Oh, very nice . . . Like always, being near him filled me with tension and longing, a feeling I knew was mutual because his penis was getting harder and harder. It pushed up at me through our jeans, and I couldn’t help myself. I just had to wiggle around just a little.

Reese groaned, then his fingers dug into my ass hard, dragging me up and down along his length.

“Christ, feels like forever since I’ve touched you. Been stuck yappin’, instead of hanging out with my girl.”

“I was a little upset with you earlier,” I admitted. He leaned forward and started sucking on my neck. Not hard enough to make a mark, just enough to heat me up and start driving me crazy. The space between my legs was hot and empty. I wanted him up inside, filling me, stretching me . . . We’d been together enough now that I knew it would be good, but not so much that the mystery was gone. This position, for example. I realized that I’d never been on top with him before.

So much potential.

I caught my hands in his hair and jerked his head back, then kissed him hard, reversing our usual roles. My tongue plunged deep and he reached between us, unhooking the button on the front of my pants. Then his hands slid down my ass, under my jeans and underwear, cupping me hard as our mouths fought with each other.

Finally I pulled back, out of breath, panting. I felt how much he wanted me—his dick was harder than a rock, and that wasn’t an exaggeration. Like a pillar of granite. I wanted to taste it . . . Yes, I definitely needed to taste him now that I’d finally gotten him alone, because who knew how long it would be before someone found him and needed something? Knowing my luck they’d spot us any minute.

Well, if they did, they’d get a show because I was tired of waiting.

What? Sheesh, how much have I had to drink? That isn’t me.

But why couldn’t it be me? I’d been stuck doing the right thing, being a good girl, my whole damned life. Fuck that.

“So you still pissed?” he asked.

“What?”

“You still pissed at me?” he asked again. “Right before you kissed me, you said that I’d upset you. What’s the problem?”

My head shook, and I smiled at him, feeling dazed.

“You told me to come out here and then you weren’t around,” I told him. “At first it bothered me, because I felt like you abandoned me. But it kind of worked out. I had to reach out and introduce myself. I don’t think I would’ve met nearly so many people if I’d been with you. I like your friends—at least, I like the women. The ones wearing the property patches. I didn’t really talk to the others.”

He smirked.

“Probably just as well,” he said. “You probably wouldn’t like the stories they have to tell nearly as much. Biker groupies and club whores. Nice girls, a lot of them, but they aren’t part of the community the same way the old ladies are.”

I frowned.

“You seemed pretty comfortable with that Sharon chick. I thought she was part of the community. Now you tell me she isn’t?”

“It’s complicated. Sharon’s a good kid,” he said, hands kneading my ass in a slow rhythm that nearly made my heart stop. I struggled against the lust, trying to turn off my brain and listen to him. “But she’s still a club whore.”

“You told me she wasn’t a prostitute.”

“It’s just a term,” he said, shrugging. “She isn’t getting paid or anything. Just means she likes to hang around, and in exchange she’ll sleep with whoever wants her. She’s under our protection.”

He slipped a hand around to the front of my body, then reached down and found my clit with his fingertip.

“You really wanna talk about Sharon right now?”