Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
For the first time I remember I'm wearing an old concert t-shirt and nothing else. I cross my arms over my chest so I don't blind him with my headlights but it only makes his eyes drift down to where the shirt skirts my thighs. “I thought the house was burning down. There wasn’t exactly time for pants. And yeah, you have to watch that toaster like a hawk, it goes straight from barely warm to charcoal.”
He nods his head towards the kitchen table. “Sit down. I’m just about ready to start the eggs if you’re hungry. How do you like ‘em?”
“Over easy. Thank you. I'm just going to go put on—”
“Sit your ass down. This is your fucking kitchen, and you came all over my hand last night. Modesty is just society’s way of controlling you by making you feel guilty for being human and having a body.” His black eyes look dead serious. “And it would be a fucking crime to hide those in tit jail.”
“…do you mean a bra?”
“That’s what I fucking said.” He slides the bacon out of the pan onto a plate and smoothly cracks two eggs at the same time, one in each hand.
My jaw drops. “Jeez, were you a chef in another life? I couldn't do that to save my life.”
He chuckles. “Nothing formal, but my first job was in a diner bussing tables and cleaning the kitchen. It fucking sucked, so I basically harassed the cooks into training me. By the time I quit, I’d been cooking the morning shift for a couple years.”
I feel a little useless waiting for food in my own kitchen. I'm not used to an in-house breakfast chef. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Yeah, I got no clue how to work that fucking spaceship of a coffee machine. If it can handle just making a cup of black coffee, that would be much appreciated.” He nods his head at my Barista Pro.
“Oh! Sure.” I set up the machine and start making us coffee, doing his first and using my ‘Bad Boys Do It Wetter’ mug.
When I hand it to him, Dragon reads the side and laughs. “You doing okay?” he asks. “After last night.”
“Do you mean when we… or—” I mime pistols shooting with my fingers.
“You’re really fucking cute, you know that?” he asks.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“It’s good, baby. I haven’t had a lot of cute, and it’s nice to get a reminder that it’s still out there.” When the toast pops out, he grabs them just in time to plate two perfectly cooked eggs with a few slices of bacon. “I meant the drive-by, but if you want to talk about how fucking good you felt grinding on my dick, I won’t stop you.”
I must be getting used to how they talk, because the part about me being cute makes me blush way more than the part about the lap dance. “Is that what it was? A drive-by?”
He fixes his own plate, basically doubling everything before sitting down. “Just some assholes looking to shake their limp dicks at us and cause trouble.”
“Does that happen a lot? Are you okay?”
“Fuck, can't remember the last time someone asked me that.” He loads egg onto a slice of his toast and chews, a thoughtful look on his face. “I'm fine. There’s a reason we have people stationed at the gate and drive patrols around the neighborhood. Random shit like last night is pretty rare.”
Everything tastes amazing. There’s something special about food when someone else makes it. “Did anyone get hurt?”
What is going on with my life? I’m sitting at the kitchen table in nothing but a t-shirt, eating breakfast with a biker and chatting about last night’s drive-by while I swoon over his ability to make perfect bacon. Some things really are stranger than fiction. “I met Paige and Bonnie last night.”
“Yeah?
“They seem nice. Paige told me that she has three boyfriends in the club. Is that the right word?”
Dragon laughs. “They’re her men. It’s closer to marriage than dating.”
“Bikers don’t get married?” I wrinkle my nose. I’ve never thought that marriage was a requirement for a good relationship, but in my experience, the guys that make a big deal about not getting married are usually jerks in the long run.
“You want the pretty version or the real one?” Dragon licks bacon grease off his thumb and I’m almost too distracted to answer.
“Um, the truth?”
“The MC answers to its own laws. Plenty of brothers marry their old ladies for legal or personal reasons, but what a man does outside the club is his own business. I’ve known guys who have a wife in the suburbs and an old lady in the club.” He holds up a hand when he sees the disgusted look on my face. “Didn’t say I approve personally. Unless everyone’s cool with it, that’s a shitty way to treat someone, but it’s important to know that to that guy, his old lady is the woman he took an oath to in front of his brothers. She’s the one who wears his patch. Savage, Crank and Poe stood in front of Hellfire and the rest of us and swore to protect and honor Paige, and when Paige accepted their patches, she did the same. Getting married to three men isn’t exactly a legal option, you know? But to the club, even if they did it wouldn’t change anything because she’s their fucking property in this world. She’s under the protection of the Outlaw Sons, and nobody touches her without answering to her men.”