Rage: Royal Bastards MC Page 7

  Gabe

  Small fingers stroke over my chest. Long, slender legs entwine with my own. Fuck, it feels good. Too damn good. My cock has been hard all fucking night. It’s going to burst with all the blood pumping to it.

  “Morning.” She beams, looking up at me. There’s a new light in her eyes, a burden lifted. How the fuck does she look so beautiful and put together this early in the morning? “Hey,” I manage to grunt out.

  “Do you miss being in the armed forces?” she ponders, tracing the tattoo of my tags across my chest.

  “The brotherhood. I miss that.” I shrug. Her fingers tickle over my flesh as her warm body pushes against mine. It’s fucking torture.

  “And this?” she asks, tapping the scorpion on my ribcage.

  “Face your fears.”

  “You’re afraid of scorpions?”

  “Have you ever been in the desert?” I raise a brow.

  She giggles, shaking her head, sending her uneven hair swishing in her face.

  “And this?” she breathes, running her palm down the snake curling around my hip, dipping across my pelvis. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I want to pin her to the bed and bury my fat cock inside her, make her drip all over it, spasm around it. Grabbing her hand before reaching the real goal, I move her away from me and get to my feet.

  “I need to take a shower,” I announce, jumping out of bed. I don’t wait for her reply or look back to see her face. I can’t let this fucking happen.

  Blasting the shower to cold, I punish my skin beneath its icy spray, but it does nothing to calm my raging hard-on, the veins pulsing violently. Gripping the base, I tug upwards. Stroking my thumb over the head, I groan from the contact. Willa’s body heat, the soft, supple touch of her flesh against mine, aids my hand. Picturing her biting that fat lip while I eat her pussy sends violent need surging through me. I want to come on those lips, tits, thighs. Fuck. I jerk faster, work my cock harder. Heat spreads up my spine, and my balls draw tight, pumping ribbons of come over the tiles. It doesn’t offer the relief I need, but it will have to fucking do.

  Turning off the shower, I open the glass door and halt all movement. Willa is standing there, bottom lip tucked between her teeth, her chest rising and falling with labored breaths. “You’re beautiful,” she murmurs. Fucking hell. This can’t fucking happen, Willa. I want her to know that—without me telling her. If she pushes even a little, I don’t think I can deny her.

  “I’m making breakfast.” She grabs a towel and hands it to me. “Just eggs.” She smiles. “I can’t mess that up, right?”

  “Depends on what type of eggs you plan on cooking.” I smirk to break the tension, wrapping myself in the towel to hide my still throbbing cock from view.

  “There’s more than one type?” she gasps, feigning shock before leaving the room with a giggle. I’m fucked.

  One of the walls in the living room is finished. It was dark when I got home last night, so I hadn’t noticed until now. Taking the seat opposite Willa, my stomach grumbles. Luckily, it looks like she can cook eggs.

  “You’ve been painting?” I ask.

  “I hope it’s okay. I just wanted to keep busy and help out.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing in comparison to what you’ve done for me.” She pushes scrambled eggs around her plate. “Speaking of, with Milo being…”

  She struggles to finish her sentence, and is saved from having to when my cell starts vibrating across the table. Jameson’s name flashes like a neon cock block.

  “It’s fine. Take it,” she assures, grabbing my plate and filling it.

  “What’s up?” I bark down the line.

  “Heard back from Royal Bastards’ contacts. The shooting was logged as a rival gang. We’re in the clear.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Yeah. I have some more to deliver in person. You home?”

  “Yeah. Getting some work done on the house.”

  “I’ll be over in thirty.”

  I end the call, watching Willa move around my kitchen like she’s at home. “You want to help me paint some more?” I ask, my chest aching when a broad grin lights up her entire face.

  “Sure! I’d love to.”

  Fourteen

  Willa

  Gabe hums while he paints. I don’t know what song it is, but I love listening to him. We’ve covered every wall in the living room, and he’s just finishing off the ceiling. It feels good. Intimate. I think my emotions are all muddled from everything that’s happened. It’s insane to feel so strongly toward someone I’ve just met.

  “So, what do you think?” he asks, pulling my head from the cloud it’s floating on.

  “I think maybe a nice gray for the hallway,” I offer, hoping I’m not overstepping.

  Smiling, he strokes his finger down my nose. “You have a little something on your…” The wet slide of paint from his finger coats my nose.

  “You didn’t.” I gape, holding up my brush threatening.

  “Don’t do it, Will,” he taunts, holding up the roller as his weapon. His shortened version of my name sends butterflies fluttering through my tummy.

  “Am I interrupting?” Jameson asks from the doorway. God, how are they both built like tanks but move like mice? Lurk much?

  “Your idea of thirty minutes is bullshit,” Gabe scoffs, dropping his roller and wiping his hands on his shirt. It’s covered in speckles of paint along with his hair and face. I dread to think about what I look like with a white line down my nose.

  “Had to do school crap.” Jameson lifts a shoulder like it’s the norm. I remember Gabe mentioning Jameson having sisters. Maybe he helps out with them. Gabe hasn’t mentioned kids.

  “Do you want a cup of coffee or tea?” I offer, trying to find more confidence around Gabe’s friend.

  “Damn. Maybe she is a keeper.” He smirks to Gabe, who offers him his middle finger in response.

  “Coffee would be great, darling. Thank you.”

  Once we’re settled in the kitchen, Jameson drops a folder on the table.

  “I had someone look into your family,” he says, like he’s talking about the weather. “Found your mother.”

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  “What?” I choke on the salvia in my mouth. “That can’t be…she’s dead.”

  Gabe’s hand reaches across the table to take mine, anchoring me. My head is woozy.

  “Sorry for his tact. Jameson, explain.” Gabe narrows his eyes on his friend.

  “Best information I have right now is she wanted to leave your father because he was abusive. She was going to take you with her, but he beat her bad. When she woke up, he was gone, and so were you and your brother.”

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  “She looked for you, but he jumped states.”

  “Oh my god.” My throat tightens. I place a hand to my chest, willing it to open and let me breathe.

  “Fuck. She’s having a panic attack.” Gabe’s voice distorts and slows. The room spins around me. “I’ve got you, Willa. It’s okay.” His words bounce around me. Strong arms encase my body. “Breathe, baby. Breathe.” How can this be? Milo made her out to be awful. Did my father’s poison influence his memories?

  “Where is she?”

  “Vancouver. She wants to see you, but it’s your choice.”

  I have a mother.

  “Here.” He hands me a photograph of her, taken with her unaware. “Private investigator took the image.” The colors bleed together as tears well in my eyes.

  “Take a day or two, think it over. If you want to go see her, we can get you a passport and flight.”

  “Why did you do this for me?” Tears pour down my cheeks, stinging my lips. An overwhelming surge of gratitude swirls inside me.

  “Because not all men are monsters. I don’t want you going through life thinking you’re supposed to be treated like shit. You’re not. From here, you have the power to do anything you want, be anyone you want. It’s a fresh start.” Jameson rests his hand
on my shoulder. “You deserved more than you were dealt, but that’s the past.”

  Gabe hands me a tissue and rubs my back in soothing circles. “She’s beautiful. You have her eyes.” Sniffling, I wipe my eyes and stare down at the woman who gave me life. I do have her eyes…and nose. I have a mother.

  Fifteen

  Gabe

  It’s been three days since Jameson dropped the bomb about Willa’s mother. She hasn’t spoken about it much since. I find her lost in thought, daydreaming. Every night, she slips into my room and snuggles up next to me, wanting to be held. I know she wants more from me, but it’s selfish to add sex into the mix. She’s been through so fucking much, and I’m the man who got her away from her shit life. She feels indebted to me. If I took advantage of that, I’d be just as damn bad as the men in her life before me.

  “I love this color,” she announces, staring up at the midnight blue wall in the entryway.

  “You should. You picked it,” I remind her.

  “I know.” She looks over her shoulder at me, paintbrush in hand. “I have fabulous taste.”

  “You’re going to be bored when you run out of rooms to paint.” She’s a machine when she gets going. I think it helps her clear her mind.

  Sighing, she picks up the paint tray. “Maybe I can start looking for a job?” I’m not sure if it’s a statement or a question. She pauses in front of me, searching my face.

  “Is there something you’d be interested in pursuing?”

  “Cooking,” she quips, and a broad grin spreads across my face.

  “That’s just cruel on society.”

  “Beast.” She yelps, nudging past me on her way to clean the brushes.

  “You could look into joining some social groups, discover what interests you.” I follow behind her.

  “It’s scary.” She exhales a deep breath. “Maybe we can look on the computer and you can help me pick a couple of local jobs to apply for?”

  “Easy. We got this,” I encourage. The thought of her wanting to find work here settles the pit I’ve had in my stomach since Jameson mentioned Vancouver. I’d give anything for her to have family who loves and wants to take care of her, but the possibility of her leaving here—leaving me—makes me want to bolt the fucking doors.

  After dinner, we went through the job ads, and she chose a couple server positions to call and enquire about tomorrow. It will be good for her to socialize with people who aren’t me. The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I can’t protect her from every dick she’ll encounter, but it will mean when she returns home to me, it’s because she wants to, not because she has to. It’s a new feeling for me to be insecure and tormented by a woman’s affections.

  Stripping out of my clothes, I crank the shower to hot and step in, washing the day from my skin. The house is coming together. Willa’s assistance has really progressed everything. Asking her to help me pick furniture out is going to be next on my list.

  Stepping out, I grab a towel and rub it over my head before wrapping it around my waist. I walk out into my bedroom to grab some boxers and almost swallow my tongue. Willa’s in the middle of the bed, resting on her knees, naked as the day she was born. My dick hardens to full mast, tenting the towel. I’ve had a constant semi since she moved in, but damn, God was doing his best work the day he created her. Her big, round tits sit heavy, begging to be sucked, squeezed, bitten. “Willa,” I strain her name out. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “I want to be with you—not out of some weird duty thing, but because my body literally aches to be close to yours. My heart races at one simple look from your eyes. When my name caresses your tongue, I want to drown in your voice.”

  I groan, fucking tortured. “It’s not that I don’t want to—fuck, I want to—but you’re in such a vulnerable place, I can’t live with you regretting anything.”

  “I’m an adult, Gabe. Consenting.”

  “What if you feel this intense because it’s new for you? I’m the first man you’ve been around who isn’t an asshole.”

  “Jameson, he’s been good to me, and I don’t want to be with him—I don’t feel this for him.”

  The man in me wants to say fuck it all and ravage her body until she’s a quivering mess. Show her how a man should treat her—worship every sacred inch, devote every minute of every day showering her in affection and orgasms. But the realist, the side of me that fucking feels this intense need to protect and comfort her, knows it would be too soon, too inappropriate to take her to my bed and fuck her senseless.

  She’s killing me. Moving across the room, I kneel one knee on the bed, grasping her cheeks. “I fucking want you. Whatever this is between us, it’s more than I’ve ever felt with anyone, but you need time—we need to give it time.”

  My heart cracks when she dips her head and covers her chest with her palms. “It was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have.”

  “No. Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

  “Shame yourself. You have no idea what a gift it is for you to want to give me this part of you. I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.”

  “Well, you could have been.” She smiles, and suddenly everything is right in the world. “Will you lay with me?”

  A gentle bob of her head has a relieved sigh fleeing my lips. “Maybe put a shirt on,” I add, going to my dresser and pulling one out for her to wear.

  Once we’re both partially clothed, we lay with her in my arms. For now, this will have to be enough.

  “I’ve been thinking about my mother,” she murmurs, her fingertips dancing across my abs.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. I think I’m going to go see her.”

  “I could come with you,” I offer, fear bubbling like lava in my chest at her traveling so far alone.

  “Thank you, but I think it’s something I need to do on my own. It’s time I learn how to be a person, you know? I’m going to be brave, and it’s because of you, so thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Sixteen

  Willa

  This happened fast—too fast. It’s been four days since I told Gabe I wanted to go visit my mother, and Jameson helped get my documents together. I didn’t ask how, I was just grateful he cared enough to follow through with his original offer. I asked for an open-ended ticket. I don’t think Gabe realizes I don’t plan to return here until I know in my heart everything I feel for him is not a stupid girl’s mind telling her she should fall in love with her savior.

  “I got you a cellphone and programmed my number inside so you can call or text to let me know you arrived. If for any reason you need to come home or want me to come to get you, just use the phone, okay?”

  God, he’s so adorable, I want to bottle him and take him with me, gulping down much-needed shots of him when everything becomes overwhelming.

  “There’s not enough I can say to tell you how grateful I am to you.” I wrap my arms around his neck. Reaching up on tiptoes, I embrace him with everything I have, savoring his touch, scent, voice. I’m going to miss him so much. My soul already aches and I’m still in his arms.

  “You got the credit card and cash I gave you?”

  “Yes. I’ll be okay,” I assure not only him, but myself.

  “Okay. You better go to your gate.” He releases me, and I refuse to look up at him. If I do, I won’t board the plane.

  “Remember you can come home whenever you want to.” His gaze is so heartbreakingly tender. I want to scream, Don’t let me go! But I know I have to do this for us both.

  “Bye, Gabe.” I choke out, turning away from him.

  His hand reaches out for my wrist, tugging me back, sweeping me up in his arms, rendering me weightless in his embrace. Almost violently, he captures my lips with his, tasting, memorizing. Moaning into his mouth, I part my lips as his hot tongue strokes inside, exploring. Strong arms squeeze as his thick lips caress, nip, devour.

  We’re both breathless when he pulls ba
ck and releases me, a haunted expression darkening the greens of his eyes, and then he’s leaving. “Bye, Willa.”

  Boarding a plane and flying ten hours alone to meet a mother I believed had been dead all these years is crazy. Nerves jump around inside my skin like fleas living beneath the flesh. I keep checking the cell phone Gabe gave me now we’ve landed, my finger stroking over his name programmed in the phonebook, my mind replying to the soul-changing kiss he gave me. Hurting him took every ounce of strength I could muster. And now, all I want to do is turn around and run back. It’s undeniable he was supposed to find me. Sighing, I slip the phone into my pocket and make my way off the airplane.

  I hate how hectic and noisy everywhere is. It’s scary being out in the light of the world. I was hidden away in the darkness of Milo’s control for so long, I don’t know how to function without direction and orders.

  Clutching my luggage, I suck in oxygen and remind myself I’m safe, no one is watching me, no one is waiting to jump out and snuff out my newfound independence.

  My stomach dances with nerves when I see a woman who looks like an older version of myself holding up white paper with my name on it.

  I wait for the rush of emotion, the rush of love, to flood me with a need to take her in my arms, but there’s a lonely pit in my chest.

  I could have had a completely different life with her.

  “Willa.” She holds a hand to her chest, the sign long forgotten. “Can I hug you?” she asks, tears scaldingher eyes.

  Reaching forward, I wrap a hand around her back, soaking her in, trying to take in the the moment so I can remember it.

  “God, I’m so sorry, Willa. I searched for you.”

  Did she?

  Pulling away, she sniffles, wiping her face across her sleeve. “This is my husband, Miller.” A man with neatly styled white hair comes forward, holding a hand out to me. “It’s an honor to meet you.” He has gentle eyes, but his palm burns my skin, making me yank my hand away. Why did I think I could do this?