Page 37 of Kneeling to Candy

There’s no way I’m outing Butch’s sex life to anyone. I stare back at Ziggy, tight-lipped.

Ziggy nods knowingly. “It’s all the confirmation you need.”

“What confirmation? Why are you guys talking in code?” Punk presses.

Simone swats the back of Punk’s shaved head. “It’s not for us to know, moron. Let it go.”

Grumbling curses under his breath, Punk rubs his abused scalp.

It’s all the confirmation you need.

This changes things. Ziggy may have been subtle, but his message was clear. Butch wouldn’t have confessed he’s a submissive in the bedroom if I was nothing more than an easy fuck.

But then what am I to Butch? His situationship?

My mind races with questions and uncertainties, trying to make sense of the enigma that is Butch. Ziggy claims his best friend is wild about me. If what he says is true, I have to mean more than a friend-with-benefits. Right?

Punk sniggers in the front seat. “Maybe Butch will catch the baby craze, too. Should we start a bet? See which of you two ladies gets knocked up first? I know my bro, Chase. He’ll try to rut Simone like a dog in heat.”

“Eww.” Simone turns her nose up in revulsion. “We’re humans. Not animals. You’re as bad as Chase. No need to be gross about babymaking.”

Punk ignores her, continuing with his theories. “Now Butch, he’s a quiet one. And you know what they say about the quiet ones, right? They’re freaks in the sheets. Watch out, Candy. I’m not putting it past Butch restraining you to the bed until you’re preggers, too.”

“Restraining Candy.” Ziggy gives an amused snort, shaking his head.

I agree with Ziggy. If restraints are involved, it’s not me being tied to a bed. Butch has claimed dibs on all bedroom submissive roles.

Fine by me. After my shitty abusive past, being tied down will never be an option for me.

Restraints aside, this conversation is edging into dangerous territory.

Babies and I don’t mix. And they never will.

While the rest of the group joke and place bets, I stare out my open passenger window, wondering if a future with Butch is in the cards.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BUTCH

After eight miserable hours without my misbehaving backpack named Candy to keep me warm on the ride back to headquarters, we pull onto the Mercy Ravens MC property back home in good ole Fort Collins. The sun is already low in the sky as we cut the engines on our bikes and the SUV pulls in behind us.

The few weeks we were gone in Sacramento for the pilfering case have brought a change in the season back home. We left in October, when the weather was still fairly warm. Fall has arrived in the Colorado foothills. All the trees have lost their leaves, covering the ground in a patchwork of colors. The air is crisper, with the fresh taste of snow in the breeze.

It’s a good thing we rode home from Vegas when we did, or we may have been riding our bikes in the snow. Though we’ve done it many times, we prefer not taking unnecessary risks. Mother Nature can be a beast. At least she held off until our return.

The main building on the compound sits in the center of the property, a steel and stone version of mid-century modern architecture designed by Jo. A row of garages sits to one side of the front of the property, and a mechanic shop to the other, where Eagle and his crew work on the bikes and other security company vehicles. And a few new houses belonging to Prez’s family and others in the crew dart the backside of the property.

As imposing as our MC headquarters is, it’s the chunk of land that it sits on that’s most impressive. A hundred acres of untouched land, surrounded by the Rocky Mountains and nearby Cache la Poudre River, cradles our little fortress from the rest of the world.

It’s the only place I’ve called home, and I intend to build a home for me and Candy somewhere on this property—a little slice of heaven for me and her to retreat to, to enjoy each other’s company in private.

First things first, I need to get back on my woman’s good side.

I don’t know what caused the discord between us this morning, but I’m going to rectify it before we go to bed tonight.

I stride to the SUV, yanking Candy’s door wide open. She startles awake from her little nap, blinking against the muted light of the pink and orange sunset.

“We’re home, sweetness. Would you like me to help you down from the SUV?” I ask, my voice hedging on a plea. Hours of not touching her has left me craving her soft skin under my fingertips.

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