She flips to her stomach, turning her head to face me. My hand moves from her hair to slide up and down her back. “So what do you want?” I ask, brushing my thumb across her lip.
“I want this.” She looks down at my cut—her eyebrows narrowing slightly in confusion. “Tell me what they mean.” My eyes fall to the thick, dirty threads she’s touching.
“This one.” My finger follows hers as it moves over the stitches of the SFFS patch. “Sinners forever forever sinners. It means I’m in this for life.”
“And SCMC?”
“Sinner’s Creed Motorcycle Club.” She traces the Pas 2 Las patch and she shoots me a questioning look. I smirk. “It means ‘can’t get right.’”
“Ain’t that the damn truth,” she mumbles, before glancing over the other patches. Without her having to ask, I find myself telling her the meaning of every patch on my cut. And what’s more surprising is I want to.
“Night Crew is the name of my Houston chapter. The number thirteen inside the diamond is a reminder to never lie to my brothers. One-percenter defines my commitment to my club. FTW—”
“Fuck the world.” Diem cuts me off, and my lip turns up at the confidence in her words. I shake my head. Frowning, she looks back at the patch, then up at me.
“Common misconception. It means forever together wherever. There’s no amount of miles that can keep me from my brothers if they ever need me.” I point to the I am my brother’s keeper patch. “That’s how I earned this.” She studies my cut a moment, letting my words and the true meaning of my brotherhood sink in. Her eyes land on the one I’ve yet to explain and she quirks an eyebrow.
“Nasty bastard?”
“You don’t want to know.” She looks like she wants to argue. But really, she doesn’t. “That’s an earned patch, babe. Trust me. You don’t want to know.” Either she’s smart enough to heed my warning, or she’s too tired to press further, but her head lays back in my lap and that lost look crosses her face again.
“You know.” She lets out a breath. “I used to wake up every morning, ready to conquer the day and earn my stripes. Now I can’t wait for the sun to set so I can come here with you. And when I get here, I never want to leave.”
“Then don’t,” I offer. Dropping my voice, I add, “Walk away.”
She rolls her eyes as she stands. “You know it’s not that easy.” I watch her undress, wishing I could do something to ease her mind. Visions of her naked give me an idea, but I’m sure her mind is too preoccupied to be in the mood.
“This is your life, Diem. You only get one,” I say, preaching as much to myself as I am to her.
“It’s not the meetings,” she starts in frustration. Ripping her bra over her head, her pretty, olive-toned tits come into view and I bite back a groan. “I feel like I’m accomplishing something when I’m there.”
“You do,” I tell her as she slips one of my T-shirts over her head. For some reason, that’s sexier than her being naked.
“But it’s everything else that I hate.” I know she’s talking about the killing. How can any man subject their daughter to such a life of darkness?
“I promise that as long as I’m around, you won’t have to do it anymore.”
She smiles the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. It’s worse than seeing her cry. “You’re too good to me. I don’t deserve you.” The words only hurt because she believes them.
“Come here,” I order, pulling her down so that she’s straddling my lap. Taking her face in my hands, I kiss her head. “You deserve to have everything your heart desires.” She looks like she’s fixing to break, so I kiss her. Soon, her hands are fisting in my hair and her body is asking for everything I want to give her.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I move her beneath me, trying my best to kiss away any doubt that she has about herself. I push my cut off my shoulders, then break the kiss long enough to pull my shirt over my head. Finding her mouth again, I devour her. Kissing her until she’s breathless and panting. My lips trail down her neck as my hands move slowly up her sides, pushing her shirt up her body, and then ridding her of it completely.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, running my hands up her arms and holding them above her head. My tongue traces a pattern down her neck and across her chest. Her breasts are just the right size for me to wrap my hand around, and I massage one while my mouth massages the other.
Her body contracts with every breath, and I move my tongue down to her navel, my hands all over her. The lower I dip my head, the more breathless she becomes in anticipation. Finally, I make it to my happiest place on earth.