Rock Chick Regret (Rock Chick #7)(111)

“Oh, all right,” I agreed but I didn’t sound happy about it (because I wasn’t).

His hands came to my h*ps and mine went back to his shirt.

“Now, what did Lee try to stop?” He went back to his earlier subject.

I’d kind of lost track of things so my mind rewound the evening and I remembered Eddie’s fight with Jerry which Lee didn’t even see and I got confused.

“Me stun gunning Jerry, my father’s henchman?” I guessed as I finished with the buttons, lifted my hands and pulled the shirt off his shoulders.

His hands left my h*ps when I leaned into him and tugged the flannel down his arms. Then I whipped it around, shrugged it on and started to button the two buttons at my br**sts while his hands came back to me, this time to the front button and zip on my skirt.

“Nope, Eddie called, told me about Jerry. Lee knows I know about that. What else happened tonight, after the fight?”

I pulled in my lips and tried to think as Hector slid down the zip on my skirt (and thinking was not easy to do). I decided to help him and lifted the hem of the flannel to get it out of his way. He slid the skirt over my h*ps and pushed down, it fell to my ankles but Hector’s hands, and body, froze.

Then he moved, one hand went low on my right hip, the other one went to the side of my belly by my hip and he framed the bandage that was at my hip bone with his hands.

“What the f**k?” he muttered then his eyes cut to me.

“Oh yeah!” I yelled, even though he was right there, barely a foot away. “I got a tattoo.”

Hector’s brows went up and I smiled at him.

“That must be what Lee was talking about,” I informed him. “He didn’t think it was a good idea. Neither did Eddie. Or Hank, for that matter. Tex thinks I’m a nut. Duke and Mace liked it, though, and the girls thought it was aces. So do I. Look!”

I bent over and peeled the bandage away, exposing the brand new tattoo, it and my skin glistening with tattoo goo.

It was a black panther, fierce, graceful and snarling.

I loved it.

“It’s a black panther,” I informed Hector unnecessarily as his hands were still framing it, his body was leaned slightly to the side, his head cocked and his eyes were locked on my hip. “I thought my idea was lame at first. But I couldn’t think of anything else that represented you.” I noticed his head jerk and his eyes slice to me but I didn’t process it, I kept talking, “Then I told the artist guy about you, that you had black hair and black eyes that could go really intense and you were a badass and I liked the way you moved, graceful and in control, like a cat. He sketched that and me and all the girls, even Shirleen, thought it was perfect, so, I said –”

I stopped talking because Hector’s hands moved away from my hip and they closed around my waist, tight. So tight, his fingers were digging in and that got my attention.

He’d straightened and those black eyes I told the tattoo artist about were intense, beyond intense, they were burning right into me.

“How f**ked up are you?” he asked.

I thought this was a strange question so my head tilted to the side and I asked back, “What?”

He let me go but only so he could pull off his t-shirt and he did this fast.

At the sight of his chest, my breath left me in a whoosh.

“How f**ked up are you?” he repeated, unclipped his gun from his belt and threw it on the nightstand, all the while looking at me. “Sadie, f**ked up. Shitfaced. Trashed. Loaded. Drunk. How f**ked up are you?”

I was still confused, watching him, feeling his heat, his intensity and something hungry about him. Seriously hungry. Therefore, I was watching him, confused, yet getting turned on at the same time.

Way turned on.

He leaned down and pulled off his boots, sending them, in turn, sailing across the room.

Then he hands came back to me, his thumbs went into my underwear, hooking into the sides, then he shoved them down until they fell to my ankles.

Oh my God.

Did he just do that?

“Sadie, answer me.”

“Um, on a scale of one to ten?” I asked, unsure how to answer, unsure what to do, not even sure I still remembered how to breathe.

He lifted me up, I let out a surprised gasp and my arms and legs wrapped around him.

“What are you doing?” I cried.

“You put my mark on you. To show my appreciation, I’m gonna f**k you until you scream my name and I wanna make sure you remember it. Now, how f**kin’ drunk are you?”

My heart was beating wildly, my belly had melted to oblivion and I was pretty certain sure I’d had a mini-orgasm.

What I wasn’t was drunk, not anymore.

“I’m not drunk anymore.”

“Good.” He put a knee to the bed but didn’t put me down. “Now, mamita, where the tat is, I can’t be on top so you got two choices, either you ride me or I get creative. Your choice but chose now.”

I swallowed.

“Hector –” I started.

He cut me off, “Now.”

Oh my.

He meant business.

And I liked his business.

So, I whispered, “Creative.”

He grinned, slow and sweet.

Then he got creative.

Chapter Nineteen

Ibuprofen and Midol

Sadie