Page 8 of Kneeling to Candy

Biker boy probably came to check on me, making sure I wasn’t up to no good. What sensible person would sneak into a closet? I’m sure I looked sketchy as fuck on his computer monitor, hiding away under the stairs. How stupid was I for not recalling the cameras in the hall around the closet?

Gah! How many times has he seen me shuffle into this space?

I groan internally, shaking my head at my foolish self.

“But…” he clears his throat, his hazel eyes finding mine again, “I watch you while I’m off the clock, too.”

Lord, come get me. Pretty sure my soul has left my body from Butch’s confession.

“Why?” I blurt, bewildered.

A solid minute passes with Butch looking into my eyes, his jaw shifting from side to side like he’s contemplating his answer.

Finally, he clears his throat, saying, “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No. Is it because I crossed the club? Did Atlas tell you to monitor me?”

“Nobody told me to track you, nor was anyone ordered to keep tabs on you. I?—”

Voices in the hall outside the closet have me throwing my hand over Butch’s mouth to silence him. It’s embarrassing enough having Butch find me hiding in a closet. I don’t need anyone else in the crew finding out where I sneak off to. One biker questioning my reasoning is quite enough.

I strain my ears to hear if the voices are moving down the hall or staying put.

With my attention preoccupied, I nearly jump out of my combat boots when Butch’s much larger hand covers mine over his mouth. My eyes snap back to his fine-looking face, seeing him caress my wrist with his fingertips. Delicious goosebumps erupt across my skin from his tender touch.

He’s touching me. Oh, my God! Butch is touching me.

Butch closes his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. His shoulders drop an inch, relaxing, almost like my touch has brought him some sort of inner peace.

What. Is. Happening?

Why is he smelling my skin? Christ! He’s smelling me—me!

Of all the women I’ve seen throw themselves at Butch, he’s not shown a hint of interest. No one seemed to capture his attention, and plenty have tried to win the heart of this quiet biker. So, why is he being affectionate with me? How am I different?

Overwhelmed, I stand in front of Butch, transfixed on the sharp lines of his diamond-shaped face. His prickly, stubble-covered cheeks tickle my palm. He’s the closest he’s ever been to me, and I won’t waste a second focusing on anything other than him.

My insides tingle with a foreign sense of serendipity mounting higher with each second we remain connected. I dare to hope this moment means something more than two people physically touching. The intimacy alone is unlike anything I’ve experienced before. Sweet and easy.

The voices in the hallway grow louder before fading as they pass the supply closet, disappearing until there’s nothing left but me and Butch.

At this point, I couldn’t care less if the owners of those voices stopped and opened the closet to find us. I’m too fixated on the fact that my palm is covering the velvet pillows that make up Butch’s lips.

And then I feel it. The lightest press of his lips against my skin.

A kiss from Butch to me.

The moment is beyond tender. I can’t help leaning into his touch, absorbing as much of this precious contact as I can. Having been alone for far too long, I want to feel more—need it.

Though I’ve had my fair share of consensual sex, it was only that—sex. No emotions, no hope for anything more than a quick release.

This gentleness Butch gives is what I’ve been neglected. And it quickly becomes a drug.

His eyes open, darkened with a look I’m all too familiar with seeing in men’s eyes. But this time, I don’t mind the man desiring me. I crave his eyes on me. I want to demand his attention stay on me, to see nothing and no one else other than me.

Slowly, I pull my hand back from his mouth. Butch continues to hold my wrist. My heart thunders in my chest for the many probable reasons he won’t let go. Hoping he wants something more with me seems too surreal to be a choice. Though I can’t help wanting it to be true.

He swallows before asking in a lower voice, “Does that explain it?”

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