Page 102 of Feeding Hope
Breaking from Undertaker and Maddog he made a beeline for his woman. Constance was trying to get the guy in front of her to understand she wasn’t interested in having a drink with him or doing anything with him, but he wasn’t taking the hints.
“Listen, I appreciate the offer but…”
“Come on sweetheart.”
She didn’t hear Frost walk up—just felt it, that shift in the room when he was locked onto her.
“You’re playin’ a dangerous game,” he said low, voice rough from whiskey and long nights.
She turned slowly, meeting his stare without backing down. “I’m not playing at anything.”
“I’m not talking to you, sugar.” Frost said as his eyes were laser focused on the guy refusing to walk away. “I’m talking to him.
The patched member raised his hands, apologized then stepped away—quickly.
Frost crossed to her in three steps and caught her chin, not gentle, not cruel—just firm enough to remind her who he was. The patch on his back came with rules, with shadows, with a reputation earned the hard way. His thumb brushed her lower lip, testing, claiming.
“You need to stay where I put you” he murmured. “What would you have done if he would have dragged you into a room?”
“I’m not helpless Frost,”
“Didn’t say you were,” he growled as he licked the side of her throat. ‘God, I love the way your skin tastes.”
Constance lost her train of thought, she’d fight with him later, right then she wanted him to strip her down and take her to bed. Fuck he could just find a dark corner if he kept licking andnibbling the tender skin on her throat. He crushed his mouth to hers, pulling a moan from her.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” he mumbled along her collar bone.
“Yes…” the moan was low, needy –desperate sounding. “I’ll be your ol’ lady.”
The kiss was all heat and teeth and barely restrained violence, the kind that left no doubt about intent. He crowded her back against the table, wood pressing into her hips, his body boxing her in. One hand slid into her hair, tugging just enough to pull a breath from her throat.
She felt owned in that moment—not trapped, not taken—but chosen. Chosen hard.
His mouth dropped to her neck, lips hot, breath deliberate, leaving marks he wouldn’t apologize for. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he growled against her skin, like it was an accusation and a promise all at once.
Her hands found his cut, fingers curling around the leather like it anchored her to him. To this life. To the danger. To the man who didn’t soften for anyone but her. When he finally pulled back, their foreheads touched, both breathing like they’d already crossed a line they weren’t supposed to.
“This stays between us,” he said.
She smiled—slow, knowing. “When has anything ever stayed secret in a clubhouse?”
Frost’s laugh was dark, satisfied. And when he kissed her again, it was with the kind of hunger that promised the night wasn’t anywhere near done.
“There’s rooms in the back!” Maddog shouted from the bar.
Constance laughed, “told you.”
Frost barely stopped kissing her before dragging her through the clubhouse then down a long hallway. When Frost stopped in front of a closed door, he knocked once, then opened it, andpeeked inside. Seeing it was empty he pulled Constance inside. Kicking the door shut he grabbed her, tossing her over his shoulder making her scream with laughter as he stalked towards the bed.
“Put me down, you fool.”
Chapter Eighteen.
Frost stayed focused on the sexy female in front of him. When he stepped up to her, he looked down into Constance’s eyes. Leaning in he watched as her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned up for a kiss, but Frost didn’t kiss her. Instead, he leaned around her gripping the bedspread and pulled it from the bed letting it puddle on the floor.
Nudging her a few steps from the foot of the bed Frost took a seat on the edge. When Constance looked down at him, he smirked. Pulling out his phone he scrolled through his music and picked a great tune—for stripping. Then shoved himself all the way onto the bed where he could rest against the headboard.
