Biker's Bride: A Bad Boy Romance (Demons MC) (Includes bonus novel Kinged!) (40 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What are you sorry for?”

He looked away from me, ice against his face. I sat down next to him.

“I know Michael was here,” he said.

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what to say. It was true, but I didn’t blame Rex for any of it. I chose to be a part of his world. I knew what I wanted.

“It’s not your fault,” I said.

“It is my fault, damn it. I’m sorry.”

“I make my own decisions. Stop acting like you control what I do.”

He sighed. “God, if you weren’t so fucking sexy when you acted like a spoiled brat, I’d be pissed at you right now.”

I wrapped my arm gently around his shoulder and felt the muscles in his arms. I kissed his neck softly and breathed his smell deeply. He was sweat and blood and dirt, and it smelled perfect.

“You can’t always protect me. You said it yourself.”

“I can try,” he said. I believed that he would.

“So where have you been all this time?”

“Stayed with a friend of mine in Chinatown. This shitty, horrible basement. Did nothing but work out and rest.”

“How did you get out of trouble?”

He grinned. “Michael’s control of the gang has been shaky for a while. All I had to do was show up and call him on his bullshit. People supported me.”

“And what, he just dropped it?”

“No, not exactly. He was forced to give me a shot, though.”

“What now?”

He turned his head and looked at me with his good eye. It struck me all over, the deep green pool of it, but tainted by the bruise. On the one hand, he was beyond sexy, but on the other, he was covered in injuries. I wondered if I could come on to him without accidentally making him curl up in pain.

“Now, I heal up, and get ready to win my next fight.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

He shook his head. “I’m going to.”

I nuzzled his neck and smelled his sweat again. “I believe you.”

He laughed. “Down girl.”

“What?” I whispered in his ear, my hand running up his thigh. “I’m just trying to be your sexy nurse.”

“Not sure I’m physically well enough right now to play rough.”

“Who said anything about you doing work?”

He turned his head at me, a small grin on his face. I felt him through his gym shorts and slowly rubbed his length. I kissed his lips softly as I slowly worked him, and I felt him grow hard in my hand.

“Missed me, didn’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” I answered, as he grew harder.

“What are you going to do with that?”

“What do you want me to do?”

His devilish grin spread wider. “Stand up.”

I gaped at him, surprised by how forceful he sounded, then smiled. I stood up in front of him, feeling excited. He spread his legs and leaned back on the couch.

“Now strip.”

I stared at him for a second, but his grin didn’t leave his face, and I knew he was being serious. Something about his commanding tone made me want to obey, and I desperately wanted his body. I slowly pulled my shirt up over my head, and I caught his eyes rake hungrily along the length of my body. I smiled and turned my back to him as I slid my shorts slowly down my legs. He let out a small grunt as I stood back up, wearing only my bra and black thong. I unhooked the clasps on my bra and slid it off, covering my full breasts with my arms.

“Turn around,” he said.

I turned, still covering myself. He looked at me hungrily, and I could see the outline of his hard rod through his shorts.

“Don’t be a tease,” he said.

“You like my teasing,” I answered. I put one finger in my mouth and slowly moved my arms, letting him get the full view of my erect, pink nipples.

“That’s better,” he grunted.

I moved toward him, and then dropped onto my knees in front of him.

“Is this what you want?” I asked.

“I haven’t been able to get this image out of my head,” he said.

I grinned, the thrill of his body running through me. I was soaking wet, but wanted to make him feel better more than I wanted to get off. Something about his broken body made me need to take care of him in every way possible. I reached forward and pulled his shorts down, followed by his tight black boxer briefs. My fingers ran over his muscled thighs, and his huge stiffness slid out from under the fabric of his clothes. I gaped at it for a second, having forgotten how thick it was. I reached forward and slowly stroked its length, and he grunted.

“I want to make you feel better,” I said.

“You’re doing a good job.”

I spit in my hand and rubbed the moisture over his length. I started to move my hand faster while his eyes were locked on my breasts, his breath ragged grunts of pleasure.

“Do you like this?” I asked.

He grunted his approval as I moved my body forward and slowly licked him root to tip. I tasted his salt and sweat and loved it, excitement brimming over. I slowly took his tip into my mouth and sucked it hard, running my tongue in circles around him. I heard him groan as I slid it further into my mouth. I took as much of him as I could, hungry and greedy for more, needing every inch.

I backed off and ran my other hand along his length as I sucked his tip and worked him with my tongue. He groaned and grunted his pleasure, and I sucked and moved faster. I needed him, and wished he weren’t so broken. I could see bruising on his lower, chiseled abs, and could only guess at how bad his ribs were. I gingerly touched the bruising with my free hand as I moved his cock from my mouth and stroked him.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Not anymore.”

I smiled and kissed the bruise. He grinned, and I moved back toward his cock, his whole length moist and rock hard. He wrapped his fingers behind my head and put a small amount of pressure as I slid his cock into my mouth again. I loved the control and power he exerted over me, loved that he pressed me down but not too hard. What followed wasn’t aggressive or cruel, but full of energy and passion. It was his excellent hands in my hair, the feeling of his body against mine, and his low, greedy grunts.

I took him fully and suppressed a gag, needing to taste his cock, to make him feel better. He groaned as I moved back and began to suck hard and fast, working his length with my other hand. I moved that way, sucking hard and fast, and I felt his whole body stiffen in response. I spread my legs out to get more leverage and worked him, letting the moisture spread across his cock as I worked him with my other hand. I felt his hands tense in my hair as he let out a low groan.

I tasted his cum before I realized he was finishing. He let it out into my mouth in great spurts, and I swallowed every bit of it as he groaned through his orgasm. I continued to slowly move along his length as he came, and once he was done, I licked off every bit of cum and saliva from his length. I wanted to take care of him, and I wanted to clean him. I felt responsible in some bizarre way for his injuries, and nothing brought me more joy and pleasure in that moment than to make him feel good, even if only for a few seconds.

“Fuck, that was what I needed,” he said.

I smiled up at him. His face was radiant and beautiful, despite the swelling and the bruises.

“Good, I’m glad,” I said.

He reached down and pulled me up to him, onto the couch. I was surprised all over how easily he could lift me, and I felt the power in his muscles, all despite his injuries. He kissed me deeply and passionately, and I sunk into his embrace. The world fell away.

“I’m glad you didn’t run,” he said quietly.

“I’m glad you came back.”

We sat there in each other’s embrace, not thinking about the future or about the past, but enjoying each other’s presence, our breathing quiet and synchronized.

W
e spent the next day lying around my apartment. I decided to take the following week off work to be able to spend it with Rex. Neither of us was willing to say it out loud, but that may have been our last time together if the fight didn’t go well. He refused to mention it, and I didn’t want to make him worry about it anymore than he already was. Plus, his body was wrecked in a bad way, and it wasn’t for another day that he felt well enough to get out of bed and walk around, let alone go anywhere. He had been running on pure post-fight adrenaline when he showed up at my apartment.

He was quiet about his suffering, but I knew he was in a lot of pain. I changed his bandages and replaced his ice amidst too many lame sexy nurse jokes, but I laughed at them every time. For some reason, no matter what he said, it made me smile.

We had an unspoken agreement that he would stay with me until his last fight. I had a feeling he was afraid of leaving me alone, or maybe he was more worried about his injuries than he let on. I didn’t mind him being around; in fact, I would have felt hollow and lonely if he had left. I was anxious about what Michael would do if he knew that Rex was staying with me, but I assumed we were safe so long as we stayed inside. Nobody seemed to have followed him to my place that night at least, although I had a feeling we were being watched.

“Think we can leave today?” I asked him a few days later. The fight was only two days out, and I was starting to feel a little stir crazy.

“We can leave whenever. I just haven’t had a reason.”

I laughed. Typical of him to downplay the danger, but I knew he was staying indoors for the same reason I was.

“Well, let’s take a day trip. It’s nice out.”

He looked thoughtful. “Where do you want to go?”

I wasn’t sure. He had just recently felt well enough to move around, which meant we were finally able to explore other physical relationships as well. I had been dying to touch him again after that first night, but he seemed too broken to jostle too much. He had made it up to me in spades, though.

“Your choice. You’re the local here.”

He laughed. “Alright, I have an idea. Ever been to the Reading Terminal Market?”

I shook my head. I had heard of it, but I never bothered going. “No, never been.”

“We’ll go there then. One of my favorite places in the city.”

I loved when he showed me around. He was always going on about the history of the city, talking about different places we could go and their significance. It showed an entirely different level to him, something completely different from his meathead appearance. He genuinely loved the city and history, and he sometimes got pretty nerdy about it.

We dressed, him in his usual cut off jean shorts and tight black T-shirt, and me in high waisted shorts and an old, vintage T-shirt with a light beige linen cardigan over top. I was excited to go out in public with him; I realized we hadn’t been around other people together yet. We had been in the bar and on the Wharf, but we hadn’t been around regular people, living a normal life. Part of me yearned for normal. I wanted to be able to go to dinner with him whenever I wanted without worrying about a gang of Irish mobsters trying to kill us. Still, the excitement of being with him was beyond worth it.

As we walked along Market, through the midday crowds, passing men in business suits, kids in street wear, and homeless guys with signs, he talked about the history of Reading Terminal.

“In the early days of the city, there were a lot less buildings everywhere. Open air markets were really popular, and people went to them for their usual stuff.”

“Are there any left?”

“The city decided they were unhygienic, which maybe they were. To replace them, the city built closed markets, like Reading Terminal. People could rent out space, and apparently some of the guys still selling there are descended from the original stall owners.”

“Is that really true?” I couldn’t tell when he was bullshitting me sometimes.

He shrugged. “That’s what people say. I have no idea, honestly.”

“Look at you, Mister ‘Knows Everything About the City.’ Finally something you didn’t research.”

He grinned at me. “Can’t be perfect I guess.”

“What else do you know about it?”

“Well, it used to have a big refrigerated floor for the vendors to store stuff in, but they dismantled it in the 50s. Apparently, back before the suburbs became a thing, Reading Terminal was shipping food all across the country.”

“Why don’t they anymore?”

“Basically, the Terminal started to decline throughout the 60s and 70s because everyone was moving out to the suburbs, and it wasn’t until the mid-80s that they decided to revamp it. Now, it’s basically a historical landmark, but back then it was just another marketplace.”

“That’s pretty cool I guess. What’s so special about it?”

“You’ll see. Some of the best stuff is from the Pennsylvania Dutch and the Amish.”

“Seriously, there are Amish?”

He grinned. “Oh yeah. They make some awesome apple butter and pies.”

We moved through the streets, and he continued nerding out about the history. I was surprised all over again at how knowledgeable he was, especially for someone who spent much of his life outside of the school system, living with gangs and doing drugs. He was a naturally curious person, and although he was high most of the time, he said he was constantly reading, and sometimes stole history books from the public library. He felt bad about that now, but I couldn’t blame him.

We made our way across Broad Street toward 12
^th
, where the Terminal intersected with Arch. There were groups of people all over as we walked by the city district courthouse. We entered into a large tunnel with the local railroad tracks above it, and walked into the Terminal.

It was packed. There were people milling about everywhere, and stalls covered pretty much every square inch of the floor space. The vendors were selling everything from fresh fish and meats to produce. There were spice vendors, candle makers, clothing sellers, and more. People sold old-fashioned ice cream, jars of jam and honey, and even wooden furniture. There were several restaurants, including a classic diner specializing in home-style farm cooking. I made a mental note of that place, and would try and get Rex to take us there later. It was incredible, the sheer amount of different people, all moving around the same space, buying food and whatever else.