Page 24 of Savage King

Odin chuckled, agreeing wholeheartedly with the bodyguard-slash-bar bouncer for Up to No Good. “Got anything coming up?”

There was a beat of silence and then, “No…what’cha got?”

“Aoibheal.” Aoibheal, pronounced “Ah-veel”, was a spectacularly popular Celtic rock singer all over YouTube, Spotify, and TikTok, whose brand was anonymity, haunting vocals, and breath-stealing lyrics. She was also one of Hawks secret crushes—which wasn’t all that secret because he wouldn’t shut up about her. He spent hours listening to her music, telling every brother in the club about her, going on and on about what she might look like and how she was going to be his old lady one day. No one believed him, but he was adamant. No one knew what she looked like since she never posted pictures of her face, but with the email Odin got earlier, he was pretty sure that would be ending right quick.

Odin could hear Hawk draw a deep, shaking breath.

“What about her?” The sharpness in the other man’s voice indicated his immediate interest. As Odin expected.

He grinned, wishing he could see the man’s face as he dropped, “Her manager called. She’s coming to Vegas for a small, intimate reveal show, and she wants Savage Protection to provide security.”

Hawk choked.

“You interested?”

“If you offer this assignment to any one fucking else I will put a bullet in his head, brother or no.”

Whoa, that was one hell of a reaction, one Odin didn’t quite appreciate…though hedidunderstand. As much as Hawk obsessed over his faceless Aoibheal, Odin would put a motherfucker down if they laid a hand on his goddess.

“I’ll text you the details once everything is ironed out on her end. Don’t do anything fucking stupid, like fuck her. At least wait until she’s no longer our client, then you can fuck her, breed her, and send all your twilight years singing Gaelic-Norse songs to your kids.” Hawk was primitive, tribal blood through and through. His father a straight-up highland laird, and his mother a Nordic supermodel who’d fallen for the laird’s charms during a state dinner in New York City. Haakon “Hawk” McGregor had the pride of two brutally vicious, gloriously primeval heritages from which to draw. He spoke both Norwegian and Gaelic, and had he proudly wore the flags of both nations on his kutte. But when it came to music…Hawk was strictly all about Aoibheal and her Celtic musical sorcery.

Chuckling, the sound strangely heavy, Hawk replied, “Thank you, Prez. You…you don’t know what you just gave me.”

Silence followed his brother’s words, the moment laden with meaning neither of them wanted to voice. Instead, Odin admitted, “I think I do, brother.”

With his phone calls completed and the desire to feed his woman, Odin rode to Danny’s Diner, bought a freshly made pie and two pipin’ hot meatloaf dinners complete with mashed potatoes, corn, and fresh baked rolls, and headed toward Skathi’s condo. There was still fifteen minutes before her hour was up, but he couldn’t wait another moment to see her. First, he’d fill her up with food until she was satisfied…then he’d fill her with his fat cock and hot come until they were both weak from orgasms and her womb was flooded with his seed.

Just the thought of putting his baby in her made his heart thunder in his chest and his cock like a steel pipe in his jeans, which made the ride to her condo that much more painful. But he’d take the pain because the pleasure would be fucking worth it.

Parking his bike in her short driveway, he picked up the pie box and untied the slightly disheveled bags of food from his saddlebags, and practically fucking skipped to her door, slamming his fist into the doorbell, and holding his breath.

Fuck, he was a goddamn wreck for this woman. He couldn’t go a minute without thinking about her, wanting her, wanting to touch, kiss, and slip inside her. If he could spend every second of every day buried in his woman, he would.

And he hadn’t even been inside her. Yet.

That would change tonight.

The doorbell hadn’t even finished its muffled echoing when the door was thrown open and a harried yet fucking sexing looking Skathi stood there, glaring at him wearing what appeared to be “staying in clothes”: sweats, a baggy t-shirt, and bare feet. Her hair was in a loose braid hanging over one shoulder, and her face, despite the glare, was beautiful. She didn’t need make up to enhance her natural features. Matter of fact, he’d throw fit if she tried to cover those adorable freckles over her nose. They were endearing, adding to the overall gloriously perfect package that was Skathi.

She narrowed her glowing golden eyes at his obvious perusal of her standing there in her doorway. He snickered.

Hell, she was sexy—it didn’t matter if she was wearing a sack, a hotdog costume, or nothing at all, his woman was gorgeous.

He grinned, unruffled by her obvious annoyance at his presence. Apparently, she didn’t believe, once again, that he meant what he said.

Without invitation, Odin stepped inside his woman’s house, coming face to face with her, his lips inches from hers.

“Miss me?” he asked, and she rolled her eyes, taking a step back to let him inside. He laughed, happiness welling where there was once only apathy and…discontent.

“I come bearing dinner from Danny’s and her one of a kind, award-winning, tummy loving’ Dutch apple pie.”

Skathi’s glower softened, a reluctant smile making her succulent lips purse just a tad.

“Well…since you brought dinner and dessert, I can’t be rude.”

Slamming the door shut with a flourish, Skathi strode toward the galley kitchen just on the other side of a hip high marble countertop peninsula.

Unbidden, images of Skathi bent over the counter, him rocketing inside her from behind blasted through his mind.

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