KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys(103)

McQueen shrugs. “I like my family; it’s just that my family is so different from me. They have no idea about what I do for a living, and I’d die if they knew.”

I raise my eyebrows, relating to him more than he knows.

“What’s that look for?” he asks me.

“My family doesn’t know I’m training for another MMA fight. They don’t know I do this at all.”

“Really?” McQueen’s jaw drops. “That’s nuts. You’re here all the time. Do you have another job that explains the bruises?”

“I don’t have another job,” I admit, wondering how much I want to reveal. “My Dad and brothers would never understand this. Let’s just say my family is ... old school about gender roles.”

He nods seeming to understand. I don’t think he quite gets it, though. My dad isn’t exactly a safe person. He does shady stuff, every day. My brothers—well, I don’t even want to know what they do all day. More of the family business.

In our house we have an arsenal of guns, drugs in a safe, and no one is allowed over, ever, if they aren’t on a pre-approved list.

“I cover the bruises with makeup the best I can. But honestly, the men in my house don’t really pay me much attention. It’s not like they’re inspecting me or something. And my sister is usually so frazzled she doesn’t notice, either.”

“Huh.” McQueen seems to have another question on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back. I appreciate him not prying. But then it’s like he can’t help himself. “You’re safe though, right, JoJo? At your house? The guys you live with, they wouldn’t hurt you or anything, right?”

“Of course they wouldn’t.” I wave off his fears. “It’s not like that. It’s just ... they have ideas about how I should live my life.”

“You could always start over, like me,” he says. “I skipped town the moment I graduated high school and only go back for holidays.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, my family isn’t like that. I could never leave my sister. My family sticks together.”

“Kit’s right, you know.” McQueen wipes his hands on a napkin, wads the garbage up, and stands to toss it in the trash.

“About what?”

“He said you’re a keeper. I get why your family doesn’t want to let you go.” He walks to me and pulls me up to stand.

“Why’s that?” I want to understand McQueen. If there’s more to him than a handsome face and capable cock, I want to know about it.

“You’re different,” he tells me simply.

“That’s what you told me after we had sex this afternoon,” I tell him as he snakes his arms around my waist. Not even meaning to, I let him. I want him. “You said I was ‘different.’ Not exactly post-sex words of affirmation.”

“A girl like you needs to be told how great she is?” he asks, looking at my lips as he talks.

I lick them without thinking. The only thing on my mind is him pressed up against me, taking me again.

“I don’t need compliments. But if we’re doing this again, I need to know I did okay the first time,” I tell him, feeling his hardness press against my core. My thighs quiver in excitement.

“Oh, girl,” he says, his mouth so close to mine. “You were fucking perfect.”

And then his lips are against me, and my arms wrap around his neck. I’m aching to get closer.

Aching to feel his skin again.

Fuck reality.

I want to fall down that rabbit hole.

Hell, I want to fly.





Chapter Seven





McQueen



This girl is going to be the end of me. And I never even saw it coming.

She asked for no strings attached, and that’s what this is, but there is something about her—the softer side of her I never expected, the way she looked when she spoke about her family. She seemed so small, so vulnerable. Like she needed a fucking man to take care of her.

When her lips press against mine, so tentative, so naive, all I want to do is teach her everything I know. Show her how to get the most out of our time together.

I pull away, needing to get her out of those little gym shorts, I need to see that sweet, soft pussy again, need her to know what sort of assets she has. Let her know how fucking hard she makes me when I get a glimpse of the space between her legs. The legs she’s never opened for any man but me.

I get on my knees before her, tug down those little shorts, and inhale her perfect mound. Oh, fuck, she is so sweetly trimmed, no fucking fancy Brazilian shit. JoJo is all woman; she’s not trying to be anything but herself and that fucking turns me on like no one ever has before.