“Just giving her options,” another brother yells.
“Fuck your options,” I call out as they laugh. We slip into the hall and back into my room. She rips the top over her head, flinging it across the room as the storm cloud hanging over her head rains grief.
“I’m covered in death.”
The flimsy scrap of black lace follows in her trail toward the bathroom. This isn’t how I wanted to see her body for the first time. Gathering the potential evidence to burn, I remain silent. There are no words I can say to bring her comfort, and I’m not in the habit of lying. The death of the men isn’t a loss to me.
I inhale slowly, watching her plump ass jiggle before she disappears into the bathroom and slams the door behind her. I bring the bundle to my nose and breathe in the musky scent of her underwear. Womanly, slightly sweet, and addicting. Mouthwatering, I lick my lips. I want to taste her directly from the source and watch her come apart on my tongue. I can’t take away her pain, but I can distract her and try to get her out of my system before she slips away and leaves me with unfulfilled desires and her contempt.
***
She steps inside my house, and my gut clenches. This is my inner sanctum. I’ve never had a woman inside my three-bedroom, two-bath ranch because I consider the space sacred and holy. My refuge from the violence and constant demands of the club, I’ve never wanted to desecrate my private space with bullshit energy. Even with her puffy red eyes, thick grief, and anguish, she brightens the space. Closing the door behind her, I realize how fucked I am. Bag slung over her shoulders; she poured into a pair of worn jeans and an oversized, lightweight gray sweater that stated Nurses Do it Better. I bet they do.
Hanging up my kutte, I unlace and remove my boots. She walks over to the couch, drops her overnight bag, and walks around my living room. Pausing at the built-in shelves, she observes the photos of me with my sister and trails her fingers over the books on the shelf above it. Turning, she arches an eyebrow.
Her eyes widen. “You read?”
I chuckle. “Should I be insulted?”
She shakes her head. “I’m admiring your hidden depths.”
“There’s more where that came from.”
“I don’t want to like you, Cutter,” she whispers.
“We’ve got a lot of history between us, Nightingale. Does one event negate all of that?”
“It fucking should.” She grips the edge of the built-in shelf.
“Are you telling me you don’t?” I walk toward her slowly, approaching her like one would a wounded animal.
“All I want is to forget.” She raises her glossy gaze to mine. “Just for tonight. Can you help me do that?”
“You want me? It’s going to be on my terms, Nadia. Are you ready for that?” Running my fingers through her hair, I gather it in a fist. “I’ll need over twenty-four hours to get my fill of you.” I run my nose along her jaw. “If you surrender, you do it completely.”
“I can’t,” she whimpers, leaning toward me.
“Then we have nothing to talk about.” I release her and step away, ignoring the voice in the back of my mind that lashes out in protest.
“No,” she cries, grabbing my hands. “I need this, Cutter. I need you.”
The blood flows straight to my dick. It strains against my boxers, pushing at my fly to escape.
“Say it again.”
She looks down at the ground. “I need you.”
I challenge her. “Look me in the eye when you say it, Nightingale.”
Tilting her head back, she glares at me definitely. “I want you. There. Are you happy now?”
I glance down at her tiny fists balled at her sides and smile. “Not even close.”
Her breathing increases.
“You fight your body. It knows exactly what it wants.”
“And it shouldn’t.”