Page 92 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
“You’d best get far, far away from here then,” I snort, fiddling with my eyeliner and smearing black across my fingertips. “Because any family you start while in the club is likely to die at the hands of a rival.” Putting on a tight smile, I smear kohl across my eyes and then switch over to the coral red of my lipstick. It’s called Lady Danger—an apt description of my current state.
“We’re dealing with the mafia, Gidge,” Crown growls, getting angry with me. “And if you’d stop making our jobs even more difficult, it’d happen a hell of a lot faster.” He throws the plastic-wrapped bundle of drugs into the sink in front of me, and then grabs me by the shoulders, spinning me around to look at him. “And once we’re done with Grey Wolfe and all of their bullshit, I’m going to start working on my wants.”
My heart is pounding, and I feel this strange mixture of fear and exultation taking over me, making my eyes wide, stealing a considerable amount of my usual thunder.
“And which club-whore is going to fill that niche, Calder?” I ask, sneering at the use of Crown’s real name. Calder Reid, consummate Boy Scout of the Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club and serious pain in my ass. He looks down at me like I’m stupid for all of a half-second before I raise up on my toes and crush my mouth to his, letting him take my wrists between his fingers and rub my suddenly thundering pulse points.
He traces lazy circles with his thumbs, but there’s absolutely nothing lazy about his kiss.
Crown kisses me the way I imagine a white knight in a fairytale might kiss a princess: with intent. It’s all about intent with him. And as the cogs in my mind turn and click, I put his words up against his kiss. An old lady. A wife. A family.
That’s terrifying. I don’t want any of that, especially not here, in the thorny embrace of the club. And yet … this feels good to stop.
Crown drops his hands to my ass, lifting me up to set me on the edge of the sink, reminding me of Grainger in the most primal way possible. Grainger fucked me here; Crown could fuck me here, too. It’d be reminiscent of that night, two years ago, when I let myself fall into the greedy hands of demons let myself be twisted in manic, wild pleasure.
I can feel Crown’s cock, hard and insistent, pushing against the confines of his jeans. I’ve got my jeans on, too, making a quickie between us a substantially more difficult thing. Doesn’t stop me from trying though. My hands fumble with Crown’s button, fingers slipping inside until I grip his velvety shaft. He moans against my mouth, driving his hips into my hand. His right hand cups my breast through the raggedy old fabric of my Metallica top, kneading and caressing in a surprisingly gentle way. Crown seems as into the moment as I am … until he’s suddenly not.
His eyes flick open, and he lets go of my breast, reaching down to grab my wrist and pull it out from inside his pants.
“No,” Crown says, voice hard, meaner and more forceful than anything Grainger has ever said to me. We lock eyes for a moment, embarrassment filling my body in a warm flush. This is not supposed to happen like this. How dare he tell me no?!
Jerking back, I shove Crown in the chest and take off, through my bedroom and down the stairs, refusing to think about the smeared lipstick across his full mouth or the hard expression on his face. Thirty years old, and he’s like a fucking lovestruck teen with dreams of roses and romance, my cynical mind grumbles. He won’t go all the way without some sort of … feeling, will he?
Being Crown’s old lady … I’d be just as trapped as if I shot that kid in the head for Cat.
No. Just no, no, no.
“Gidge,” Crown starts, following along behind me as I head for the front door. Yes, technically, Dena said the party started right after school, but any idiot at Ashbury High knows that only the losers and the band geeks show up before eight o’clock. “Just … wait.”
“Don’t bother asking for my hand in marriage, Crown,” I snap as I stop on the driveway and give his bike an unintentional but appreciative linger of the eyes. Crown has a hot ride, that much I can admit. Even if I’m not interested in riding bitch seat on the back of it for the rest of my life. “If you ask Cat, and by some miracle, he says yes, then remember this: I’m telling you no.”
Crown pauses behind me, brow crinkling, one hand rubbing at the back of his head.
