“Well, when you are, don’t look to me to throw your baby shower. I’ll show, if there’s alcohol and I’m not pregnant, though I’ll also show if I’m pregnant, but only due to hormones making me a sissy wuss. But I won’t throw it.”
Sixx shot her a grin. “I’ll file that in my memory banks.”
Sylvie’s eyes sparkled, even if they still looked speculative, and then she returned to serious.
“Back to the situation at hand, Creed would lose his mind if I brought the news to him that I was going in undercover as a submissive at a BDSM sex club even if I wasn’t pregnant. Seeing as I am, even not showing yet, if I shot that by him, his head might explode.”
“That’s cool, Sylvie. I’ll find another way.”
“Sorry, babe. But if you need backup, I’m in. Creed doesn’t start trying to put his foot down about me being out in the field until the middle of the second trimester. And you know you always have him.”
Sixx nodded, wondering why she hadn’t noticed what good friends she had and the length of time she’d had them.
Unless deep into a pregnancy, Sylvie was always down to partner up or have her back, and the same with Tucker, no matter the situation, no questions asked.
She was seeing, somewhat uncomfortably considering how long she’d held her down, how having Simone back was a good thing.
And she was finding, definitely fortunately, with the friends she’d earned, it was a better-late-than-never scenario, not a too-little-too-late one.
Most important, though, was that now she had this understanding, she needed to keep her head out of her ass and take care of what she had a lot better than she’d been doing it.
“I can do legwork outside the club and computer work if you need it,” Sylvie offered.
“I’ll let you know after my meet with Coates,” Sixx replied.
That was when Sylvie blindsided her.
“If it’s this good, and I can tell it’s good, Sixx, kids only make it better.”
Sixx drew in breath and kept trying out this honesty-to-friends thing.
“I didn’t have the best of childhoods.”
Sylvie leveled her eyes at Sixx in a way that she believed every word that came out of her mouth next.
“I bet Creed and me got you beat. My dad … when I can drink again, I’ll share what he did to me, to Creed, the lengths he went to keep us apart. And years later, Creed sprinkled Jesse’s hair on that motherfucker’s grave. We didn’t make our boy as a fuck you to my father. But it was a helluva fuck you to my father. And that’s the thing, Sixx. In the end, the beauty of it is that you don’t need that fuck you. The fact you went on living, finding someone to love who loves you back with everything he is, and making babies is just that, all for you, all you need. It just becomes the beauty of your life. But it doesn’t suck either, having that damned fine of a fuck you.”
Sixx grinned at her again. “Oddly, for the first time in my life, I’m feeling maternal.”
Sylvie burst out laughing.
And Sixx, continuing to explore this sharing business, and finding it also didn’t suck, not by a long shot, laughed with her.
*
Sixx got home that night at a decent hour, having texted Stellan she would so he knew evening plans included both of them together for dinner … and whatever came after.
She’d met with Coates, who was a lot more together than she was expecting. Though she got the feeling that having one of his partners providing illegal sex-for-hire services using his meal ticket to do it had scared him straight.
He was also a lover not a fighter, and that love, and respect, extended to women. The mere thought his partner was taking advantage of the fairer sex was visibly nauseating him.
So she took the job, even if the guy could only hand her five hundred bucks in cash, saying, “Promise, Sixx, I’m good for it, and if I’m right, Clay will back that, and make sure you get your usual fee with any expenses.”
Now she just had to figure out how she was going to get what she needed as Mistress Sixx at the Bolt.
It was going to have to be observation and paid informants.
And that last part got expensive.
Not that she didn’t have it, or didn’t think Coates and his partner would be good for it, just that information acquired like that was usually expensive, but it wasn’t always accurate.
Undercover was the only way to go, the optimal play.
She just didn’t know who she could recruit to go in.
As she walked down the back hall toward the kitchen, hearing strains of Stellan’s favorite light rock station, primarily “Cool Change” by the Little River Band, she felt nerves start to set in.
They were real.
They were happening.
She was in love with him.
He was in love with her.
They had a future.
And it was freaking her out.
In order to handle that, she focused on the fact that Stellan listened to light rock when he was at home. But in his cars, he was all about Sirius’s Classic Vinyl and Classic Rewind stations.
He seemed like the kind of guy who would listen to Bach, Chopin, Beethoven, stuff like that.
Little River Band, the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd and Led Zepplin would not have been her call.
But she loved that about him.
Fortunately, this was her thought, not her nerves, when she turned the corner and saw him standing at the island, surrounded by the makings of whatever their dinner was going to be.
She stopped as she took him in in his suit trousers, his feet bare, his dress shirt still on, tie gone, shirt open at the throat, vest still in place, shirtsleeves rolled up.
He got her text, came home, got semi-comfortable, and started dinner for them.
And he prepared food exclusively at the island. He used the stove, obviously, and the grill outside. But all prep work happened at the island. Without fail.
She knew that about him.
She knew that later he’d put on jeans, or some lounge pants, or be wearing nothing at all because they’d be making love.
She knew the kind of music he listened to in his house and his cars, and she knew his washcloths in his private bathroom at his office were bright white and that he never put celery in his salads because he hated it and he took his steaks rare (like she did) and his martinis dry (like she did).
She also knew the reasons why he loved her.
And he knew her, down to the deepest part of her that was far more important than the fact she also loved light rock and classic vinyl and dry martinis.
And it just made him love her more.
He turned his head her way.
And yeah.
Right.
He was also so fucking handsome, it was nearly impossible to believe.
His lips tipped up in a welcoming smile.
Yes.
So … fucking … handsome.
“Hello, darling,” he called.
“Hey, baby,” she said softly, his head tipped sharply to the side, and she made her way to the island, taking only a slight detour to toss her stuff on the counter bar that delineated the kitchen from the dining area.
He was wiping his hands on a towel and rounding the island toward her when she made it to him.
He threw the towel on the island, watching it go.
Then he turned back to her.
And Sixx sucked in breath at the look she caught in his eyes.
It was good she did. It automatically braced her for when his fingers latched on her hips and she was up, ass planted on the island.
Before she knew it she was pushed back to the island, her head barely missing the ingredients for their meal spread out at the other end. Her red leather miniskirt was shoved up, her panties yanked down her legs, and lifting her head, she just caught Stellan’s going down, and she sucked in another breath when he went down.
His mouth on her, working her deep, he spread her legs wide and ate her until she came, crying out his name, her fingers fisted in his hair.
She lost purchase on his hair when she was dragged off the counter, put to her high-heel-shod feet, turned roughly, and she felt Stellan’s hand working at her ass.
“Baby,” she breathed.
“Ass up,” he ordered thickly.
She did as told, tipping her ass for him, and he slammed inside.