I'm Only Here for the Beard (The Dixie Wardens Rejects MC #4)(14)

She rolled her eyes. "I have my laptop under a blanket on the couch, which besides my Kindle, is my only source of entertainment when I'm at home."

"And let me guess," I eyed her big ass purse. "You have the rest of your life in your purse?"

She started to giggle as she walked down the path toward me, her eyes going to the ground to ensure she didn't trip on one of the fucked up boards lining the front walk leading to the fucked up house. 

I chose to take a moment to take in her body.

She looked different without her uniform. More carefree somehow.

Though her shirt wasn't tight, it was shapely. It must've been a throwback from her high school days, because it said Kilgore Bullies Soccer 2006 over the breasts.

I couldn't see any other reason she'd be wearing it unless she'd played.

Her thighs, though … those were definitely soccer thighs. Even now, over a decade after that t-shirt was made, it was obvious she tried to keep in shape. Her legs were a tribute to her soccer days.

They were the type made for power. To get her where she needed to go as fast as she could get there.

And they'd look fucking amazing shoved up by her ears as I took her hard, my hands holding her knees hostage as I powered my hard cock into her willing body.

Luckily, those sexy legs were encased in a sturdy pair of jeans, otherwise I'd have to commit the ultimate sin and ask her to change.

As it was, I'd have to be giving up my leather jacket.

I couldn't risk that sweet, smooth skin of hers meeting the road and being torn off.

Not only would I feel terrible, it'd be a slap to mankind's face.

She was everything that I looked for in a woman, and it literally baffled my mind that she had man trouble. Some good man with the right intentions, unlike me, should have swooped in and swept her off of her feet already.

She should literally be birthing a man's babies, and making his life fuller than it already was.

Instead, she was walking toward me with a spring in her fucking step, unaware just what she was walking toward.

As I watched her take the last few steps, I made a decision.

I was done playing friends. I was done with my good intentions. I was also done fucking my life up.

No more would I allow people to use me. I wouldn't pick up any shift I could. I'd spend time with my girl  – one who didn't know that she was mine yet. And I'd fucking level any guy who tried to take her from me.

I wasn't some pansy. I was an ex-Marine. I'd fought fucking wars.

And Naomi had the kind of face that drove men to start wars in the first place.

What I wasn't willing to do with Ellen, I was more than willing to do for Naomi.

I'd only have to prove it … and go slow.

Because I didn't want to scare her away. She'd been burned before and I wasn't willing to hurt her in any way.

"I like your shoes," I told her.

She stopped at the side of my bike and checked out her boots.

"I called my friend back home and asked her what she wore when she was on the back of her man's bike. She told me, and I had Amazon overnight these to me," she informed me. "I also got another present that's yours as soon as I can find out where you live."

I narrowed my eyes.

"You better not have … " I warned low in my throat.

She batted her beautiful blue eyes at me and grinned innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sighing, I offered her my hand. "Might want to move the helmet so it doesn't get stuck up your ass when you sit down."

She snorted, reached for the helmet as well as kept hold of my hand, and then shifted behind me, getting comfortable, before letting go of my hand.

My fingers tingled from where they'd come into contact with her skin, and I cleared my throat to keep the groan at the feel of her thighs around my hips in as she scooted forward.



       
         
       
        

"I had to ask my friend about this, too," she said. "Her name is Winter, and her husband's name is Jack. Winter worked at the fire department with me. Her husband's also ex-military. Army, though, not Marines."

"Pity," I drawled. "You'd been doing so well until you said what branch he's from."

She pinched my side and laughed.

I squirmed.

I was ticklish as fuck on my sides and she fucking knew it.

I'd stupidly told that to her on one of our long nights posting-also known as hell in limbo. Posting meant that we were positioned between two stations, ours and a neighboring one, waiting for an emergency in either district at the gas station forty miles away from our station. Though she'd also told me that she was ticklish under her chin and boobs.

At the time, I wasn't willing to find out if it was true or not.