HARDCORE: Storm MC(117)
“I should be able to see you at about, uh, four-thirty, if that works for you,” Christina continued.
Missy checked the time on her phone. That would give her about an hour and a half to get things ready for the meeting. She hoped it would be enough time.
“Sure,” Missy agreed. “I'll see you then.”
She ended the call, then dialed Hunter. “Is everything okay?” he asked without preamble.
“Sure, we're fine here,” Missy told him. “I set up the thing we talked about. It's happening today. Meet me at the place again in one hour, and bring a couple of extra guys.” She hated this vague cloak-and-dagger routine, even though she knew it was necessary.
“You got it,” Hunter said. “Be safe getting there, okay?”
“You know it,” Missy replied, ending the call.
She returned to the kitchen where Cain was finishing his omelet. He looked at her warily as she collected the dish and brought it to the sink to wash.
“What was all that about?” he asked. “You're going to get your hair done in the middle of all this shit? Hunter's not going to like that.”
“Hunter knows all about it,” she answered. “Christina's mother runs the Teepee Motel, and she's got information we need about what's going on with Gaspar, so I'm going to talk to her. The hair excuse is just for whoever's listening in.”
Cain scowled. “Since when is that your job?”
“Since last night, when Christina reached out to me. I was planning to mention it to you, but...” Missy trailed off.
But then I ended up giving you an angry blowjob instead, she finished mentally.
Cain got up from the table and started pacing the kitchen angrily. “I cannot fucking believe this bullshit. I'm the motherfucking VP of the Blood Eagles. I've been up to my elbows in everything this club's done since I was fucking seventeen. I've stolen for this club. I've served time for this club. Fuck, I've killed people for this club. And now I get a little banged up, and I'm supposed to stay in my goddamn house for a week like a useless asshole while some barmaid runs around doing the real work? What a fucking crock!” He kicked the chair across the room.
“Christ, will you get a grip on yourself?” Missy asked. She went to pick up the chair.
“Leave it where it is!” Cain roared.
“Why?” Missy inquired. She bent down, grabbing the chair and lifting it.
Cain crossed the room and crouched, seizing Missy's wrist with his good arm. “Because it's my chair, it's my house, I'm the vice president of this fucking MC, and I goddamn fucking say so, that's why! Now do what the fuck I tell you.”
The hand on Missy's arm seemed to crackle with electricity, and Cain's eyes were like hot coals. Their faces were inches apart, their heaving breath crashing together in the air between them. If any other man had ever grabbed her like that, she would have kicked them in the balls without a moment's hesitation.
But Missy could tell that Cain felt as powerful as he had the previous night and she found herself turned on by that. She wanted to give in to it, to let him have her in any way he wanted. She hated his cocky macho attitude, and she hated herself for wanting him so much despite it.
And in the smoldering orbs of his eyes, she could see that he was conflicted too.
Don't kiss me, she thought.
Please kiss me, she thought.
As though he could read her mind, Cain leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers hungrily. She tried to put up some resistance, but it was impossible. She searched inside herself for logic or restraint, but could only find a burning need that refused to be ignored. She felt her body move toward his instinctually, like one drop of water trying to join with another. They sank to the floor together, and this time, she could tell that Cain was feeling no pain, only lust.
“Take off your clothes,” Cain growled.
Missy stood and started to yank off her t-shirt, but Cain held up a hand. “No. Do it slowly for me.”
Missy looked into his eyes, feeling the now-familiar blush creep up into her cheeks. She lifted the shirt up slowly, teasingly, offering a glimpse of her bra before lowering it again. Finally, she turned her back to him and pulled the shirt off the rest of the way, removed her bra, then turned, her hands covering her nipples as they rapidly grew hard beneath her fingertips.
Cain's eyes continued to burn into her. He licked his lips. “Take your hands off of them and come here.”
She lowered her arms, exposing her erect nipples and approaching him like a zookeeper nearing the cage of a hungry lion at feeding time. As this image crossed her mind, she realized how appropriate it was. There was something in Cain's eyes and posture that was undeniably proud, regal, and savage, all at once.