Reaper's Stand(33)

“This isn’t Nate,” I growled, sliding my fingers into her hair, gripping her head tight. She woke with a jerk, eyes wide and confused.

“What?”

“I’m not Nate,” I growled. She blinked at me.

“Reese? What are you doing here?”

Holy shit. I’d brought her food, listened to her cry, and then held her half the night—and she didn’t even remember. Karma could suck my ass. I dropped down on the bed, shoving a knee between her legs, covering her with my body. My dick found her pubic bone, and I rotated my hips.

Finally.

Fucking hell that was sweet relief, even if it wasn’t a money shot.

“Oh my God …” she whispered, eyes wide. “Reese, what are you doing?”

I groaned, grinding against her so hard it hurt. She bucked back, whimpering, and I completely forgot about keeping things simple. I needed inside her. Now. The rest could wait. I caught her lips with mine, nipping them before thrusting my tongue deep in her mouth. Her hips bucked again, her hands digging into my chest.

Then she bit my tongue.

“What the f*ck?” I gasped, jerking away from her. Her eyes were wide and full of shock, which was right about the time I realized her hands weren’t digging into my chest to rip off my shirt.


Nope.

They were pushing against it.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Nate and I agreed not to see other people. I’m still with him.”

“If you’re with Nate, why the f*ck wasn’t he here when you needed him?”

London closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Unfortunately that forced her breasts up and into my chest. I thought my cock might actually explode, and not because I blew my wad. Nope, it might split from the sheer volume of blood trapped in there.

“He and I need to talk,” she said, and I growled. Talk? She looked almost as frustrated as I felt. I rotated my hips into hers one more time, both of us gasping in need.

“Fuck that. Your cunt wants me inside as bad as my cock wants in.”

“I don’t like that word.”

“I don’t like Deputy Dick,” I growled. “But you don’t see me putting a bullet in him, do you? Stop bitching and let me f*ck you.”

Her eyes narrowed and she shoved at my shoulders, hard. I rolled off her, chest heaving as I tried to make my brain work. Almost impossible, what with the complete lack of available blood. My cock throbbed. Literally. I felt each pulsing heartbeat hit it like a sledgehammer.

I wanted to kill her. Fuck her, then kill her. Then kill Nate Evans for putting me through this. Teach that cocksucker to move in on a Reaper’s woman.

“I’m really sorry that I got drunk and made an idiot of myself,” London said after a long pause. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“Damned straight.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Blow job would be nice.” Throw in a fifth of vodka and a pole dance and maybe I’d reconsider killing her … but I wouldn’t be happy until I’d split her cunt wide open. I slammed my fist down on the bed. Fuck!

She squeaked. Like a mouse. It was cute, which pissed me off even more.

“Anything else?”

“No, I think you’ve done enough,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to think of something—anything—to distract me from the pain between my legs.

“It was really nice of you to come over and bring me dinner.”

Nice.

Fucking bitch thought I was nice. If she thanked me for being her friend, it was over. I’d have to go on a killing spree.

I gotta get out of here.

Jackknifing off the bed, I stalked out into the living room, looking for my keys. They were on the kitchen counter, right next to the empty take-out containers. She could buy her own f*cking dinner and cry alone next time.

I heard her bare feet padding up behind me.

“So I guess this probably means our deal is off?”

Her voice sounded uncertain, almost scared. Still a little slurred, too. I turned to glare at her, taking in her tangled blonde hair, the curve of her generous hips in those tight jeans, and the way her shirt drooped low enough to show plenty of cleavage.

“Not if you want to keep the club accounts,” I growled, wondering why the hell I didn’t just fire her ass. My cock reminded me that we weren’t finished with her yet. “I’ll see you out at my place on Tuesday. Make enough food for leftovers and maybe we’ll have a talk about getting a crew into The Line.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Eat shit,” I said, and then slammed out the door.

Seems like a bit of an overreaction, Heather gloated as I climbed into my truck.

She could eat shit, too. Fucking women. Even dead, they stuck together.





CHAPTER SIX


LONDON

“So, where does this leave us?” Nate asked me Monday night. We sat at a table in the back of the restaurant? where the light hardly reached and the flickering of candlelight was supposed to make everything look romantic. Instead it felt claustrophobic and damning.

“Honestly? I’m not sure.”

“I know you needed me and I wasn’t there. Do you think you can forgive me?”

I sighed, wondering whether it mattered.