Page 49 of Ghost

“All home.”

Some of my tension eased. “And the person after me?”

“Still out there. No confirmation Len is the inside man.”

Going by the state of his knuckles, I assumed it had taken some effort to get the answers he’d been given. I understood that club business included violence, but nothing I’d seen made me think the Black Crowns were careless or indiscriminate. And I could live with that.

“Can we go home now?”

“Yeah.”

We took his motorcycle through the quiet canyon roads, my arms around him tighter than the speed required. The house was still dark when we pulled in, but there were already Black Crowns on the perimeter.

When we got inside, I pointed him to a kitchen chair and got my first-aid kit. He sat and let me clean his split knuckle, watching my face instead of his hand.

“You don’t have to fuss.”

“I know.” But I didn’t stop because I loved him.

When I was finishing up, most of the tension had finally eased from his muscles. I set the kit aside and stepped between his knees. He looked up at me, and I put my hands on his face and kissed him like I had been waiting all night for this moment.

A deep groan rumbled up his chest, and he let me lead for a moment. Then his good hand fisted in the front of my shirt, and he pulled me in until I was pressed against the hard length in his jeans.

A helpless sound slipped out of me, and his tongue swept across my lower lip before pushing inside. I rocked into the thick ridge behind his zipper.

“Tamsin.”

“I want you.” Emboldened by the heat in his dark eyes, I added, “Now.”

The chair scraped back as he stood, sliding an arm under my butt to lift me. I twined my arms around his neck and held on, trying not to move too much so I didn’t risk him popping one of his stitches.

The bruise along his ribs had to pull, but he didn’t slow down. “Bed. Before I take you on the table.”

“Wouldn’t complain,” I teased, although I wasn’t really joking.

“Don’t tempt me when we have a perfectly good mattress twenty feet away.”

I loved that he used “we” when talking about the bed because I wanted the man I loved to feel at home in my house. And I enjoyed the heck out of how he kicked the bedroom door wider with his boot and sat down on the edge of the bed with me still in his lap.

We somehow managed to strip most of our clothes off without changing position, only standing to get our shoes, pants, and underwear off. Then I got another look at the bruises on him and froze with my hands on his chest.

“I’m fine.”

I shook my head. “You’re not.”

“Good enough for this.” He caught my wrists and kissed the center of each palm. “You started it, pretty girl. You don’t get to stop because you’re worried about a bruise.”

His mouth closed over my breast, his beard scraping the underside. I gasped and arched into him. He sucked, then used his teeth just enough to sting before soothing it with his tongue.

He cupped the other breast and rolled the nipple until I was writhing against him. “That’s it, pretty girl. Don’t hide from me. I want every sound.”

“Gavin—”

My voice broke because he pinched and pulled at the same time.

He turned, laying me on the mattress and following me down. His weight settled between my thighs, and one forearm planted beside my head. “You’re soaked. Been like this since you laid that kiss on me in the kitchen, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I gasped when his hand slid between the valley of my breasts and down my stomach.