Page 45 of Vengeance (Ruthless MC 4)
“I can already see her coming up with a new plan,” Vampire muttered as we'd watched her strap our kid into a window seat. We’d agreed to co-father, no matter what, a few years ago, but I had to note, the little boy looks exactly like Des-E spit him out.
The sight of him tightened my chest. Three kids, spaced two or three years apart. That had been the fantasy I’d spun in my mind when Doc finally gave herself to us. And on the plane, I came dangerously close to spinning it again.
But then I reminded myself that she made us hunt her down. And instead of arguing for her like I did in Nebraska, I just agreed with Vampire. “Me too.”
Both mother and child must have had a long day. They fell asleep on the ride from the airport and barely stirred when we hustled them into the cabin under the cloak of night and deposited them together in the big room.
But this morning, I watch her wake up in bed alone—then immediately look all around for the little boy whose hand she fell asleep holding.
“Where’s B2?” she demands, first things first.
“With a babysitter, eating breakfast.” I rise to my feet. This feels like the beginning of a battle. And she’s smaller than me, but not weaker—I discovered that the last time we did this. “We made sure he had that dinosaur egg oatmeal he likes so much.”
Before, I went out of my way to keep the fact that we’d been watching her out of the conversation. Now I let it float, just to see how she reacts.
She doesn’t. And I swear now that I can see right through her, I can watch her making the decision to act like she’s totally okay with that.
She glances around again, this time in a “trying to get my bearings” way. Her eyes flash with recognition and linger for a moment on the curtained window.
But then she looks back at me and climbs out of bed.
She’s gained weight and swapped out her hair for much shorter curls since the last time I saw her. But I’m hit with all sorts of déjà vu as she closes the space between us with her fist balled.
Just like the first time, I brace myself to see what she’ll do next.
“Hyena, I’m so sorry!” she exclaims with an apologetic tilt of her beautiful face. “This was all a huge mistake. I got scared, and I ran. And when I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t know what to do. But please, forgive me. Please, don’t take it out on B2.”
Christ. Other than the stuff about our son, she’s saying what I imagined in my dreams. The exact words I wanted to hear. I stand there, stiff as a board. Mentally begging her not to—
Too late. She strings her arms around my neck, and her soft lips find mine, her tongue licking and darting its way into my mouth.
Instant, concrete erection. The kind I haven’t had in years, even when I was in the shower, fantasizing about having her back in the cabin with us.
“I’m sorry…I’m sorry,” she whispers between kisses, stabbing me with her words, scalding me with her mouth.
Our stove’s been turned off for two and a half years. But the flame catches like we never walked away. And in an instant, I’ve got my arms wrapped around her. I’m walking her backward, and we’re falling onto the bed. Together.
“You missed us, didn’t you, Doc?” My voice comes out a coarse rasp as I strip her out of her clothes between kisses. “Missed how we learned this body. How we touched it and made you come every time.”
She whimpers helplessly against my lips when I reach down between us and push three fingers into her slit, knuckles deep. Forcing her to stretch around my digits, squirm and adjust.
Soon we find our old rhythm, though. Her hips undulate into my thrusts, and her legs scrabble around my hand. Like her body still knows me. Like we were never apart.
She’s about to come. I can tell from the way her eyes glaze and her breaths begin to hiccup. She’s still so responsive…soaking-wet, and I’m so fucking hard. Dying to be inside her.
But I pull my hand away.
“What? Why?” She blinks. Then an anticipatory smile spreads across her face when she sees the way I’m stroking myself, my eyes hot on her—just like I used to before putting on a condom.
But this time, instead of putting on a condom, I keep stroking. And my eyes stay on her, but only because I’m waiting for her to get what I’m not going to do.
The realization dawns soon enough.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice husky with horror.
I answer with a growl as I throw back my head and shoot my load—not inside her, but all over the summer blanket.
