Chapter 20

20

SLOAN

T his room, over a month ago, was a strange cell for me but no less a prison. I'd been Bones' responsibility after he'd chosen to spare me. Back then, none of us knew why he'd make that choice. Now, though, it makes sense.

My cheeks ache as another smile takes me over, unable to help it. Not even the memory of Paul can diminish the bright warmth that's taken root in my chest. Elation has followed me out of Dr. Grayback's office all the way back to the motorcycle club's clubhouse. I hadn't cared that I was returning to the place I'd been kept by Reaper's orders. Even then, this place is more comfortable to me than the justicar's compound ever was. Now it's more than comfortable.

I'm surrounded by His scent, his clothes, the little things he's collected over the years and liked enough to bring inside and surround himself with. Before, I was never interested in exploring. When I was in here, I'd sit on the large bed pushed up against the wall or sometimes, if I felt brave enough, I'd peer out between the blinds. The room is on the second floor and overlooks the gravel drive between the house and the massive metal building the motorcycle club uses as a garage. At first, it had worried me that they had me in a place that showed glimpses of their strength as if in a subtle threat. Now, I realize they didn't care what I saw.

The Knights of Hades demons are powerful in a way that doesn't require declarations.

They don't need to threaten their enemies or allies with fear. Theirs is a strength intense enough that the consequences of betraying them are inherently understood.

A door closing down the hall tugs me back to the world around me and I'm drawn to the lone shelf over an age-darkened worn wooden 6 drawer dresser filled with Bones' clothes. There's an untidy stack of cards at the edge, like he'd had it neatly organized before tossing it up on the shelf and not bothering to straighten it. I pull the stack down, the glossy material smooth under my fingers as fascination fills me.

Moving to sit on the bed, my eyes are glued to the photographs I'd found. I flip the first one, a shot of the Las Vegas Strip, over but the back is blank. There's no date printed, either by the printer or Bones. I move to the next one, another one in Vegas I'm pretty sure, of a white French Bulldog wearing a glittering bodysuit and black pompadour wig sitting on the wall of a fountain. With each photo, I learn more about Bones. There has to be at least fifty photos in the stack, some of them printed with dates as old as thirty years ago.

A picture of a beautiful redhead staring directly at the camera with a vixen-like expression makes me pause. She's wearing a denim mini-skirt, a Metallica concert tee that'd had it's sleeves torn off and the neck cut deep enough to show off her generous cleavage, and black Doc Martin boots. She's sitting on a motorcycle, her hands braced on the gas tank, her arms squeezing her breasts together and hiding the dark gap exposed by the skirt.

She looks like a woman who knows who she is and what she wants. She looks like she *takes* what she wants.

She doesn't look anything like me.

There's no date on this picture but I guess it must have been some time in the nineties. Who was she to Bones? A past lover? She had to be important if he kept this picture.

I can't even find it in me to be jealous. She's so full of life, so full of confidence that I feel myself falling a bit in love with her.

"That's Myrah," Bones says quietly, startling me. I look up, cheeks flushing at being so thoroughly caught snooping. He's leaning in the open doorway hands in his front pockets, one heavy boot crossed over his other ankle.

My eyes go back to the woman in the photo, turning her name over in my mind. "Was she one of your lovers?"

He snorts and I watch him as he comes into the room, idly kicking the door closed with his heel. "You were more her type than me," he says, his face soft even with his skull tattoo.

"Oh." My cheeks flame again. "Where is she now?"

"She died. Two days after that picture."

I'm not sure what to say, his tone making it clear he isn't interested in talking about her anymore. He takes the stack of pictures from my hands and I let them go without protest. He tosses them haphazardly back onto the shelf before turning back to me.

The hunger in his bronze eyes has my mouth drying and my body responding with an answering heat. His nostrils flare as he scents me. There's something intensely primal and sexy about being with someone that can literally smell how turned on you are from a distance. It only makes me more wet.

Bones closes the distance between us in two quick strides, fast enough that I gasp. Taking advantage of that, he captures my nape in one of his massive hands, my hip in the other, dragging me towards him until he's devouring me. His tongue invades my mouth, his hands crushing my body against him. I melt against him, submitting to his demanding kisses.

I marvel at the trust I have in this male, when not even two months ago I'd believed I'd never be willing to open myself up to being hurt. I never thought it possible for me to even be able to desire to trust someone as much as I want to trust him. To feel a connection greater than I had ever before.

I gasp for air, desperate for breath and he moves his lips along my jaw and down my neck. Licking and biting and sucking until my knees turn to jelly and his embrace is the only reason I'm not crumpled on the floor. My heart is a battering ram against my breast bone, like it's determined to beat through me and take up residence inside him. My sinuses burn as the emotion I feel starts to overwhelm me.

"I love you," I breathe out, letting my head fall back as his teeth scrape over my collar bone through the thin material of my shirt.

Bones stills. He lifts his head until our eyes meet. There's a ferocity in his eyes that makes my blood race.

"Say it again." His demand is a growl. Goosebumps flow over my body, leaving over-sensitive skin in its wake.

I wrap my arms around his neck, curling my fingers through the dark hair at his nape. "I love you."

There's a moment of silence that stretches between us. The silence is thick, like the seconds after a scream where the ghost of the sound echoes in the air. Time returns with a frenzy as I'm flying through the air. I land with an oomph, the air rushing from my chest, as I bounce on the mattress. Bones, that same frenzied expression, looms over me at the edge. His chest heaves, like a predator who's chased down his prey and finally has her cornered.

"I need to taste you." The words are deeper, reminiscent of when he'd claimed me in his true form.

I capture my lower lip between my teeth and give a nod. Then he's on me, tearing at my jeans, ripping them down my legs. My panties, too, are shredded. A moment later, the rough, warm wetness of his tongue delves into the very center of me.

The sensation is so powerful, the pleasure so overwhelming, that it's as if he's electrocuted me.

"Holy shit!" I exclaim, my hands digging into the mattress to anchor me.

I lift my head, needing to see him between my thighs. He's looking at me, those bronze eyes watching me intensely. He dips his head, his tongue stroking through my folds, his focus never leaving mine. The intimacy of his stare makes me want to close my legs, but the feel of his tongue makes me want to open them further.

"I'm going to fucking eat you alive," he murmurs.

Then his mouth is back on me and the sensations are so intense that my head drops back and a wail leaves my throat.

He eats at me like he's starving, like he needs the taste of me more than the air in his lungs. One hand slides up my belly and under my shirt. He cups my left breast, his thumb circling and then scraping over my nipple. The sensation zings down to the bundle of nerves his mouth is assaulting.

"Yes!" I gasp. "Bones, yes, yes, please."

I'm not even sure what I'm asking him for. For him to stop? For him to never stop? To keep doing exactly what he's doing?

"I fucking love how you taste."

His tongue finds that spot that makes my hips buck and he stays there, lashing over it until stars burst behind my closed eyes.

"Bones, oh God, please, yes, there. Don't stop."

The words come from me, but I have no idea what I'm saying. All I can do is feel.

"Bones," I gasp, needing to see him. To reach him.

When I lift my head again, he's still looking at me. His gaze is molten bronze and he's watching me, a predator focused on his prey. The intensity in his gaze is almost enough to send me over the edge, but I can't let go. Not yet. I want this to last forever, the feeling of being consumed by him, the sensation of his mouth on me.

As if he knows, as if he can sense what I need, his tongue slides into me. My inner muscles clench around it, trying to hold him, keep him inside.

"Please," I beg.

My eyes are wet, and tears slide down the side of my face and into my hair.

He gives a hum and the sound reverberates through me. His hand leaves my breast and slides down between us, his long fingers finding the spot his mouth was torturing only moments before. He presses and rolls his thumb in time with the thrusts of his tongue.

"I can't...," I gasp, my chest so tight I can't breathe.

"You can," he growls against me.

The words, the vibration, his touch and his mouth are too much. It's all too much. I can't hold it back anymore.

"Bones!" I shout his name as the pleasure erupts. My entire body arches off the bed, every muscle tight. Then I shatter.

Pieces of me fly apart, breaking into a thousand tiny little pieces. The fragments rain down, reforming and changing me, until I'm not who I was only moments ago.

"So fucking sweet," Bones whispers, his lips moving up my body, his hands shoving the material of my shirt up and over my head.

His mouth finds my nipple and sucks.

"You're going to kill me," I whimper, my hands digging into his thick hair and holding him to me.

"I hope not," he murmurs, the vibrations sending shock waves through me. "If you die, I won't get a chance to fuck you again."

He's so blunt, so crude, and I'm pretty sure it should offend me, but instead I'm laughing.

"You're ridiculous."

"No," he argues, his voice muffled since his mouth is still at my breast. "I'm a male. And I'm fucking crazy about you."

He releases my breast and moves up until we're eye-to-eye. His expression is so soft and gentle, such a contrast to the harsh, crass words.

"You're mine," he tells me, his lips brushing over mine.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, threading my fingers through his thick hair and tugging. "I am," I agree.

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep you. Always."

"I love you, Bones," I tell him, meaning it, and tug at his shirt. A second later, he's helping me and then he's tossed it somewhere to the side. I run my hands over the expanse of his chest, his skin soft like velvet over rippled muscles. Not even the multitude of scars he bears can detract from his rugged beauty. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I grind upwards, my pussy finding his hard shaft through his jeans. "I need you in me."

"Fuuuuck," Bones draws out, his eyes squeezing shut, as I keep rubbing against like a cat in heat. Maybe later, I'll be embarrassed at my shameless action. Right now all I care about is the pleasure already re-building in me, about the need that can only be filled by his cock.

He moves above me, his hands working his pants down. The moment his cock springs free, we both groan as the hard length glides between my wet folds. I hardly recognize myself in the moment, so overcome with the need to have this male inside me that I brace my feet on the bed and grip his shoulders, gyrating and moving my hips until I've got the head of his cock nudged at my entrance.

Sliding a hand up the back of his neck, I grip his hair hard. I pull at the strands until he stops trying to get his jeans off and looks at me.

"Fuck me," I order, my own voice practically a growl.

His lips twist up in a smirk. "No."