He leaned over and pressed his lips to her ear. “You’re not wearing pants. You’re wearing a tight little fuck-me skirt that shows off your perfect ass and your beautiful legs and all I could think about the minute you put it on was ripping it off. Which I will do. But later.”
“I was talking about a different kind of pants.”
“I want in those, too.”
She followed him into the house and up to their room. Cade had paid for the modest three-bedroom house in cash and refused her contribution, saying it was a good way to launder the club’s money and he didn’t want her involved. Although she loved the vaulted ceilings, sunny country kitchen, and dark hardwood floors, she didn’t have the heart to tell him it might already be too small.
“Before you show me what you got the girls, I have a housewarming present for you.” She turned away and leaned over the dresser. “Open it.”
With a low growl, Cade reached for her skirt and undid the zipper. “I was gonna wait to sex you up, but I’ve suddenly changed my mind.”
And then silence.
“Do you like it?” Dawn looked back over her shoulder at her very still, very quiet, very shaken old man.
“What did you do?”
“It’s a Sinner’s Tribe tat, exactly the same as yours, scars and all. I checked with Jagger that it would be okay and he wouldn’t consider it a dishonor to the club. His reaction was kinda like yours.”
Even the tattoo artist hadn’t been happy to add the jagged lines to match the scars that marred Cade’s tattoo. But she wanted Cade to understand that she accepted him, just the way he was. Loved him. Scars and all.
She felt the soft press of his warm lips against her back.
“You never cease to amaze me,” he murmured. “Or surprise me. Or move me in ways a biker shouldn’t be moved. It’s the best fucking present I ever got.”
“You can thank me later,” she teased. “But now I want to see what you got for the girls.”
Jaw still clenched with emotion, he nodded to a box on the bed. Dawn removed the lid and looked inside.
“What are these?” She lifted out two small leather vests.
“Sinner cuts. For my girls.”
Dawn spun one of the vests around and stared at the miniature patches on the back. “PROPERTY OF CADE?”
He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest, his lips brushing over the soft skin on her neck. “All three of you are mine. Mine to look after. Mine to protect. Mine to love.”
“Well, if that’s the case, there’s one missing.”
“’Cause you’re wearing it.” His breath was warm and moist in her ear as his hand slid up to cup her breast. “And since we’re alone, I want to see you wearing your cut and your new tat and nothing else to celebrate our new home.”
She turned in his arms, her body trembling. This moment had gone so wrong with Jimmy. But this was Cade. And they had planned for this together. Wanted it. Hoped. Dreamed.
“I meant you’ll need something smaller … baby size.”
Read on for an excerpt from the next book by
SARAH CASTILLE
SINNER’S STEEL
Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Zane flicked the throttle on his Harley and the bike surged forward, forcing Evie to tighten her grip around his waist.
He could do this.
The distance between Evie’s house and Bill’s shop couldn’t be more than twenty miles. And look. He’d already made it to the highway. If she would just stop wiggling on the seat behind him … and if she didn’t hold him quite so tight with her breasts pressed up against her back … and if her fingers weren’t dangling over the bulge in his jeans, which was getting more pronounced the closer she pressed her body against his.…then he might actually make it to the shop without either crashing the bike or spilling in his pants like a teenage boy.
He couldn’t remember feeling lust like this since the night he’d left Stanton. Sure he’d had women. He had an apartment separate from his room at the clubhouse so he could indulge his less than conventional tastes. The sweet butts were always warm and willing, and if he wanted to keep things discrete, the Sinners owned several strip clubs in town. But he rarely felt the need to take advantage of the opportunities the cut provided. And when he did, every woman morphed into Evie. She had been burned onto his brain, ruining him for other women forever.
And now her soft, sexy body was pressed up against him, her thighs brushing his thighs, her hips firm against his ass, and her damn fingers resting on his fly. His groin tightened and he swerved the bike.
Fuck. Concentrate. But it was so damn hard.
He wondered what Mark would think about his wife riding on the back of Zane’s bike, holding on to him, legs parted, cheeks flushed from the wind. If she’d been his, there would be no way he would allow her on the back of any man’s bike. Hell, he wouldn’t let her near another man. Look how he reacted to her, despite the stain of her betrayal still tainting his heart.