Reaper's Stand(32)

This was officially the most f*cked-up dinner date I’d ever had in my life.

London—

Everyone calls me Loni, Reese, but I hate it. I like how you use my real name … Can I touch your stomach?

—was drunk off her ass, and I had a very bad feeling that if I f*cked her, things wouldn’t end well. Not normally a factor for me, really. I liked it when things didn’t work out with women. Generally that was the goal.

Unfortunately, karma’s a bitch and she had a lot on me.

I stared at the TV, pretending to watch the world’s least interesting movie with London passed out all over me. Her tits smashed up against my chest, her legs straddled my thigh, and her hand lay on my stomach, precisely six inches from the top of my straining dick. I knew this because exactly once every sixty seconds I looked away from the screen to make sure it hadn’t ripped a hole through my pants. Then I’d start counting down again, because the counting was the only thing keeping me from rolling her over and shoving my cock so far up her cunt it hit the back of her throat. Yeah, that’d wake her up …

Why wasn’t I doing this? Good question.

It wasn’t because I’m a good guy or she was too drunk or any of that shit. I’ve never been a decent human being and didn’t see a whole lot of reason to change things up at this stage of the game.

Decency isn’t really my thing. This was about strategy.

London sighed in her sleep, pulling me a little closer as her hand slipped down. I groaned, and somehow my dick got harder, something I would’ve bet a hundred dollars wasn’t even possible. It actually hurt, and the smell of her hair drifting up toward my nose didn’t exactly help.

She smelled like vanilla cookies.

I asked myself again why I wasn’t currently f*cking her. I had her at my mercy—she was all over me. I should just take what she offered and enjoy it. Strategy was overrated.

She might actually make you happy, Heather told me sternly. Don’t blow it, *.

Goddamn ghosts in my head.

Heather needed to back the f*ck off, because I wasn’t down with this shit. I hadn’t actually died with her, despite the fact that it occasionally felt that way. She’d left me to raise our girls all by myself and sometimes I hated her for it.

Fortunately, thinking of my girls made me smile.

Didn’t even have the words to describe how much they meant to me. Somewhere along the way I’d reengaged with life, for their sake if not my own. Biggest fight of my life, not crawling down into that grave with my wife. London was fighting the same kind of battle, in her own way. When shit hit the fan, she’d charged life head-on, taken in Jessica and fought for her, despite the fact that she had an easy out. Nobody could have blamed her for passing Jess along to social services. I respected the way she threw down for her kid, even though Jess wasn’t technically hers. She understood loyalty, and that family isn’t always about blood.

Much as I hated to admit it, that was the kind of strength and loyalty it took to make a good old lady … Then I shook my head, because I sure as shit wasn’t going there. Claim her? Okay. But nobody could ever take Heather’s place, let alone wear her patch.

Maybe I could find a happy medium, though, and that’s where London came in. Screwing her tonight would complicate things in a way that could end with her hating me. I’m nothing if not decisive, and I don’t f*ck around once I’ve made up my mind. I wanted London and I definitely planned to keep her for a while.

That meant I should start things off right.

First order of business—remove Deputy Dick from her life without scaring the hell out of her. If I had to suck it up for a while to make that happen, I had no doubt she’d make it up to me down the line. Thus I found myself lying on a couch watching some dumbass movie with a dick harder than a diamond and no happy ending in sight.

London stirred against me again, letting out a soft snore.

Christ, her mouth was right by my nipple. I felt the heat of her breath touch me through the thin fabric of my shirt, and something like panic welled up in the back of my throat. I had to get the hell out of here, because no f*ckin’ way I’d be able to keep my hands off her much longer. Respect only went so far.

The brothers would laugh their asses off if they saw me now.

“Okay, sweetheart,” I muttered, cradling her as I sat up awkwardly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

London snuggled deeper into me, making protesting noises. She really wasn’t very big, despite those fabulous tits of her. I lifted her easily enough and carried her back toward the bedrooms. Her door was open, revealing a neatly made queen-size bed. The room was decorated in what was probably thrift shop furniture, but it’d been polished up and laid out in a way that looked put together and purposeful.

Nothing like my bedroom.

“Still pissed at you,” she muttered as I tugged back the covers and tucked her in. Well, look at that. Sleeping Drunky was waking up, and I didn’t even have to kiss her first.

“Do I wanna know why?” I asked. She frowned, eyes still closed.

“You know why, Nate. But you can spend the night anyway …”

Nate? She thought I was Nate Evans?

That f*cking cockwad was not getting credit for this good deed.

My good intentions disappeared in an instant, brain turning off as instinct kicked in. Didn’t matter that I’d decided to keep my hands off—she didn’t get to dream about Deputy Dick while I held her. That was a straight-up deal breaker, something both I and my cock felt very strongly about.