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  And then his tongue was gone, replaced by two probing fingers that moved slowly inside her, pressing gently, finding that spot that brought her breathless pleasure. When he found it, he crooked his fingers, and at the same time, flicked his tongue against her clit.

  “Pistol!” She was trying to clutch at his head — dammit, if he’d had hair, she would have been pulling it for all she was worth. The intensity was nearly too much; heat flooded her entire body, and the room blurred. She rocked her hips, forcing his fingers deeper. He flicked his tongue again and again against her clit, a motion like butterfly wings, while he continued to crook his fingers every few seconds against her sweet spot.

  She came in a rush, pussy clenching hard around his fingers, her clit throbbing and her chest heaving. She’d never in her life had an orgasm this intense. Afterward all she could do was lie there trembling while he cleaned her with his tongue. He swallowed every drop of her juices, soothed her tingling slit with a couple of gentle licks that nearly made her purr.

  He told her softly to stay put.

  She heard him go to the bathroom and clean up. She drifted, and wasn’t sure how long she’d been out of it when he came back. She gazed up at him while he gazed down at her. He wasn’t hard anymore, she realized.

  She shifted up onto her elbows. Glanced again at his cock, then up at him. “Want me to…?”

  He shook his head, smiling at her. “I took care of it.”

  And with that he reached down and scooped her up in his arms. He carried her to the staircase and then up the stairs, depositing her gently on their bed. He climbed in beside her and pulled the covers up over both of them. She curled against him, feeling suddenly more vulnerable than she had when she was spread open before him on the kitchen table. She hadn’t allowed herself this kind of pleasure before; since her mother’s illness, she’d felt guilt about any desire for sex, for a relationship. Because there had been someone who’d needed her. There’d been something more important to worry about.

  But now…

  God, it had felt so good. She was still dizzy from that sex, still riding a high she wasn’t sure she’d ever come down from. She was reveling in Pistol’s closeness, in the slow, steady movement of his hand up and down her naked back.

  Is it okay? Am I allowed to want this? Especially when he’s … when this was all set up by my father? When this wasn’t a choice for either of us.

  But tonight had been a choice. The marriage wasn’t, but this was — being here, listening to each other’s breathing. Katrin choosing to trust Pistol. Pistol choosing to be here with her instead of at the clubhouse, or out on a mission.

  They did have agency here.

  And tonight, at least, they had chosen solace in each other’s arms.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “We need to talk.”

  Great. Exactly the words Pistol was hoping to wake up to.

  Katrin was sitting up in bed, looking wide-awake. Her hair tumbled down over the straps of her tank top, and there were small, sexy smudges of yesterday’s eye makeup under her eyes. Pistol would rather make use of his morning wood than talk, but what the hell.

  He rubbed his eyes blearily. “Do we?” He yawned, half-stifling it with the back of his wrist.

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured, eyes fluttering as he fantasized about sinking back into sleep. “I’ll call you.”

  She swatted his shoulder lightly.

  He grunted and pulled himself up so he was halfway sitting. Was she still mad about the messy house? Regretting last night’s sex?

  He guessed he was about to find out. “What’s up?” he asked, trying to keep the covers situated so they hid his boner. For some reason, that seemed like the polite thing to do.

  “My dad wants us to have a baby.”

  Ah, fuck. Leonard Smith’s name was still the most effective boner killer Pistol knew. But as hard as Pistol tried to play it cool, his heart was pounding. Did Katrin know something he didn’t about Leonard’s orders? “Uh, yeah. He mentioned that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What?” Now he really was confused.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that was part of his plan?” She didn’t sound angry, but she wasn’t breaking eye contact with him, and her voice was very, very firm.

  “I assumed you knew. He’s your father. I thought he’d filled you in on all the details of his evil plan.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “Who’s laughing?”

  She sighed. Leaned back against the headboard. “No, Pistol, he didn’t. I didn’t know he planned to breed me like an animal. And I find it kind of weird that at no point during our time together did you bring it up. Did you say, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t impregnate you. You know that really crazy part of your dad’s plan? Well, here’s how we’re gonna fight it.’”

  He furrowed his brow. What the fuck? Why was her dad’s bat shit scheme suddenly his fault? “I thought it went without saying. Of course I’m not gonna knock you up. Of course I don’t want a baby. Obviously, when your dad asks, we’re gonna tell him we couldn’t conceive.” Did he imagine it, or was there a flash of sadness in her eyes?

  No. Oh hell no, don’t tell me she wants a fucking baby…

  “And what about when he has us checked by his own doctors? What happens when he finds out we’re lying?”

  “So what are you saying? That we should have a baby just to keep him happy?”

  “No. But I’m saying we should have a plan.”

  “The plan is we don’t have a baby.” He yawned again. “I need some coffee.”

  “Pistol. I need you to take this seriously.”

  “I am taking it seriously. It’s just … this whole thing is so genuinely crazy that half the time I don’t know what to say. Or do.”

  Her expression softened. “Me too.”

  “Look.” Pistol reached out to take her hand. She seemed startled, but then squeezed back lightly. “He hasn’t come knocking on the door demanding his grandbaby yet. We keep him at bay for as long as we can, and by the time we’ve reached a point where he’s asking doctors to examine us, we’re long fucking gone. We’ve found a way out of here.”

  Her brow knit slightly. “What do you mean, out of here? I mean, are you planning to leave your club? Are you … are you striking off on your own?”

  Hell if he knew. He’d take Deion, sure. And the others … shit, there was no way out of this without killing Smith. And killing Smith was only cutting the head off the beast. There were still the goons, the shadowy associates on both sides of the border…

  And then it occurred to him that she was probably asking if he intended to leave her. If he planned to run away with her, or just help her get a fake passport and see her safely to the airport. He had no idea. No goddamn idea.

  “We’re going to get out of this.” Even he could hear how empty the promise sounded. Why should she believe him when he couldn’t even keep a promise to do the dishes?

  And yet he meant it. The depth to which he meant it startled him. He’d protect her. He had to.

  She’d folded her arms under her breasts. Was clutching herself tightly, like she was cold. “I might have made things worse.”

  “How?” he asked quietly.

  “When my father called to tell me what he expected of me — of us — I told him I’d never do it. I called him a monster. Hung up on him.”

  “Wow.” He whistled, impressed. “Good for you.”

  “But what if I’ve just pissed him off more?”

  “Maybe. But he needs to hear that from you. Him knowing how much he’s hurt you…that might be the only way to get him to come to his senses.”

  Privately, Pistol didn’t hold much hope for that. Leonard Smith didn’t have any senses to come to. But some of the panic left Katrin’s gaze.

  He put an arm around her. She leaned against him. “What a mess.” She sighed.

  “What a mess,” he agreed. “But it’s
okay. We’ll be okay.”

  She tilted her head, peering up at him. “Last night was amazing.”

  He laughed. “Hell yeah, it was.”

  “We ought to do it again sometime.”

  He leaned down and kissed her. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  She placed a hand on his chest. Made him shiver as she ran her fingers back and forth between his pecs. “I think we should get condoms. See what else we like doing.”

  His dick hardened. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll pick some up on my way home today.”

  “Hmm.” She glanced at the clock. “You’re going to be late for work if you don’t get up now, aren’t you?”

  “Uh, I guess—” He broke off the sentence as her hand snaked under the covers. Her fingertips brushed his stomach, and his dick twitched. “Shit…”

  “Do you have just a few more minutes?” Her voice was low, almost a purr. “I think I could make it worth your while.”

  Her hand closed around his shaft, her palm warm. She used her thumb to spread a little pre-cum around his dick, and then she pumped gently, just as she had last night.

  “Oh God.” He threw his head back.

  She pumped harder, tugging gently on his dick, making him move his hips for her. He was panting hard, so close to the edge, his balls drawing tight, when suddenly…

  She stopped.

  He opened her eyes. Stared at her. “What … why…?”

  She smiled. A more salacious smile than he could ever have imagined on a girl so demure. “I want you thinking about me all day. When you get home, I promise this’ll be worth it.”

  And she got up and went to the closet to dress.

  ###

  Now what?

  Pistol worked quickly, almost manically, on a Subaru that needed a battery replacement. He’d slept with dozens of women, dozens, and detaching himself afterward had never been a problem. He remembered some of them, but for the most part, they all blurred together. He enjoyed sex, liked having some no-strings-attached fun, but he wasn’t necessarily looking to make memories that would last a lifetime when he went down on a girl. When he fucked her.

  But he couldn’t treat Katrin that way. Couldn’t push her away, couldn’t detach himself from her life, because when he was done here in the shop today, he was going home to her. This unbelievably beautiful, kind woman who shared his home. Whom he’d had sex with last night.

  Incredible sex.

  Pistol wasn’t used to sex where he didn’t come — or where he only came during a quick trip to the bathroom to jerk off afterward. But it had felt so right last night, to focus on Katrin’s pleasure. To watch her body respond to his every touch. Usually when he went down on a girl, it was to show off his own prowess, to get her to scream his name. But last night, he’d genuinely wanted to give Katrin the best orgasm of her life. Not for some ego trip, but because she deserved it. Because she’d needed it.

  Damn, the moment she’d come … the moment she’d lost control, been helpless against the waves of ecstasy that had crashed over her… He’d remember that forever.

  “Pistol?”

  He looked up at Deion. “Yeah?”

  “You’re putting that battery in backwards, buddy.”

  He looked down. So he was. All right, so his focus wasn’t the best today. Because he was still breathing in Katrin, still tasting her, still feeling her tighten around his fingers…

  He switched the battery’s angle.

  “You missed a good meeting last night,” Deion said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Eventful, anyway.”

  Pistol rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry I wasn’t there. Got busy at home.”

  He could feel Deion’s gaze on him. Not judging; Deion never judged. But serious, missing nothing.

  “What happened?” Pistol pressed.

  “A couple of Smith’s goons were there. They were hinting again about how big this next shipment will be. Sounds like we’re gonna make bank.” Deion didn’t sound happy about it, though.

  “You’re worried?”

  “I dunno, man. I like the profits, I really do. So do the other guys — Ford got his new bike, by the way; you gotta see it — but it’s just not right. You saw the way Smith was ordering us around last time. He’s not gonna be satisfied with sharing. He wants to own us. That’s what I think.”

  “What’s Kong say?”

  Deion shrugged. “Nothing, man. Kong’s been fuckin’ useless. Just keeps saying listen to Smith.”

  Pistol shook his head. “That ain’t the Kong I know.”

  “No shit.” Deion tossed a grease rag on the pile and glanced at Pistol. “You remember when he came to get you up in San Antonio?”

  Pistol’s gut clenched a little at the memory. Bloody fist, clutching a payphone. Jaw nearly too swollen for him to speak…

  He tried to grin. “You weren’t even there.”

  “Yeah, but you told me all about it,” Deion said. “Kong, man. Used to be he’d do anything to protect us. Now he just shows his belly and pisses himself whenever Smith walks in the room.”

  “Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

  “Not sure how long I wanna spend waiting to see how this all plays out.”

  “Yeah.” Pistol’s mind was wandering to Katrin again.“When you get home, I promise this’ll all be worth it.”

  What if I don’t make it till the end of my shift?

  His balls hung heavy and swollen in his boxers. His ass flexed every time he thought about having sex with Katrin. Imagining her tight pussy around his dick…

  “Pistol?”

  “Huh?”

  Deion was looking at him funny. “You’re weird today, man. Everything okay with the missus.”

  Pistol felt himself flush. “Oh, yeah. Fine.”

  Deion wasn’t looking away. Suddenly his face split in a wide grin. “Dude. No way.”

  “What?”

  “It finally happened huh?”

  “What are you talking about?” Pistol said unconvincingly. Normally he bragged to Deion about every chick he slept with. But something about what had happened between him and Katrin … he wanted to keep that private.

  “Oh man. You did.” Pistol was practically crowing. “You fucked her. Was she a good lay?”

  “Cut it out. She’s my wife.”

  Pistol’s smile slipped a little. “Dude. Sorry.”

  “Just … have a little respect, okay?”

  Deion shrugged. “Sure. Didn’t realize you were, uh … actually getting attached.”

  “I’m not, just—”liar “—just, she’s my wife, and I’m trying to treat her that way.”

  Deion shrugged again. “Sure, dude. Your call.” He was grinning again.

  Smug bastard.

  But Pistol couldn’t help grinning too.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Pistol got home, he couldn’t find Katrin at first. She wasn’t in the kitchen, or in the front office. Maybe she was napping? Or reading in bed, the way she sometime did in the afternoon after she finished her freelancing work.

  He made his way upstairs, the pharmacy bag rustling. He smelled something sort of cinnamon-y as he crossed the hall and opened the bedroom door.

  Katrin was on the bed — reading, as he’d predicted. But she was on her stomach, propped on her elbows, with her head at the foot of the bed. Two scented candles were lit on each bedside table. Katrin’s long, loose dark hair shone in the candlelight, and her skin glowed gold.

  So much skin.

  Because she was wearing the skimpiest dress he’d ever seen.

  It was fire engine red cut low in the front, so that he could see the full, round tops of her breasts — a shade lighter than the rest of her suntanned skin. The dress hugged her ass and hips, and her legs and feet were bare and smooth.

  “Hotdamn,” he murmured.

  “Hi, honey,” she purred, rising up on her elbows so that her arms pushed her cleavage up. “Welcome home.”