Page 114 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
“Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth and go deal with the traitor that’s waltzing around the compound like he owns the place? Isn’t that your job, Cade, as the sergeant-at-arms? It’d be nice for me to see you earn your salary for once.” Crown shoots from the hip, but it’s very obviously a defense mechanism.
“One of these days, your big mouth is going to get you into trouble, and I won’t be around to watch your back,” Grainge hisses before he passes by me, pausing just long enough to get a handful of my ass and squeezing. I throw him a warning look that he ignores before heading into the kitchen to talk to Nellie.
“You didn’t really buy me a house, did you?” I ask, moving up close to Crown and watching as his moss green eyes slide my way. “It’s simultaneously romantic, and also creepy.”
“Your friend has to go,” he tells me, reverting back to his VP voice. I prefer the one he uses in the dark, the quiet groans and moans, the undeniable male sounds of pleasure and satisfaction. That’s what I want to hear. I want him broken open and vulnerable to me, giving me everything he has without reserve.
It’s just … I have a wedding to another man in six days, and I don’t know how to wrap my head around any of it.
“Where’s your house? Is it close by? Could I stay there with Reba?” I’m asking the questions, but Crown has already checked out, trying to move away from me toward the back door. I grab his arm and he turns suddenly to look at me, eyes darkening, his full mouth pressed into a thin line. “Crown, we’re past this sort of thing. We have to be past it or none of this will work out.”
He watches me for a moment, but his expression remains guarded.
“My house is technically inside the walls of the compound, but that doesn’t mean anything. Nowhere is safer than this, especially not when you’re a primary target.” He looks me over and I’m not sure, exactly, what it is that he sees, but he takes a step closer and ends up with his huge hand sliding along the side of my face, fingers tangling in my hair. “If I did buy you a house, I was waiting until you were a little older to give it to you.” My brow goes up, and he returns my stare with one of his own. “I didn’t want to fall in love with you, Gidge. In fact, I tried everything in my power to stop it.”
My throat gets tight. How the fuck do I process what he’s just said?
“In love with me?” I query back, because although it seems to be an unspoken thing, based on actions, it’s also nice to hear confirmation via words. They’re secondary, of course, but nobody begrudges being reminded that they’re loved. “How long were you planning on waiting?”
He frowns and looks away toward the house again, toward Reba and Nellie and Grainger just behind the glass, before glancing back at me.
“I figured you’d turn eighteen, run off somewhere, meet a guy.” Here he clenches his jaw slightly. “Break up with that guy. Maybe then I’d find you and ask you to have a drink with me, and you’d say yes. I have no fucking clue. It was a play by ear sort of a thing.” He tightens his grip in my hair, and my breath comes out in a rush. I sound excited. Anticipatory. Aroused. All of those things are true. “I did not expect the tour de force you’d become at sixteen. Jesus, this is fucked-up.” Crown says the words, but he doesn’t release me. Instead, he encourages me to move closer to him, and my palms end up pressed against his chest.
“You can stop hating yourself for it, you know,” I explain, running my palms up and over his shoulders, letting my hands rest on the leather of his cut, the very same cut I wore when he rode me into the sofa. “But if you want to keep placating me to make up for it, I’ll take it.”
“Gidge,” he warns, just before my lips press against the side of his neck. Now that I’ve gotten Reba back, the world is painted in different colors. War, I can handle. War, I will deal with. Just so long as I have my people around me. “You’ve got a guest, and if you keep touching me like that, I’ll forget all my manners.”
“Maybe that’s what you need?” I offer suggestively, lifting my eyes up to look at him through thick lashes. I’m not an idiot. I know exactly what he sees when he looks down at me. A young woman dressed head to toe in leather, her dark hair straightened into a glossy wave, red-brown eyes and long lashes, strong brows, and a pouty but very sharp mouth. “To forget?”
