Page 287 of Outlaws of Tulsa

He growls, nipping at my jaw. “By fucking who?”

“Stormy.”

His laughter warms me to my soul. “I mean, I think she’s onto something, but I prefer bitchy bottom. Has a nice ring to it. In fact, maybe I should paint over the boat name—”

I silence his teasing by shoving my hand into his pants and gripping his thickness. “Hush, boyfriend, we have a houseboat to christen.”

“If the boat is a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’.”

“Oh my God. That’s such a lame fucking dad joke. Did Owen teach you that one?”

He snorts. “Fuck off, BP.”

The jokes get discarded like the clothes on our body, at our feet and forgotten. Dragon consumes me whole like he’s done from day one. He’s fire and I’m timber. I want to burn only for him.

Buried deep inside me and his teeth digging into the flesh on my neck, I imagine a long future ahead of us. Many, many more days like this. Sex, love, maybe even a family one day. Whatever I can get with Dragon feels like more than I deserve.

It isn’t until we’re both spent and are sprawled out on the bed in our little houseboat that I relax. This is my life now. Him. Us. And it’s all I could ever want.

“Love you, baby.”

Hmm, I want alotmore of those.

What can I say? I’m a greedy boy.

Bermuda

Thanksgiving…

I’ve never cooked for this many people, but our Royal Bastards family keeps growing, especially now that Dragon’s family will be joining us this year too. Not that I’m complaining. I love the chaos. These guys are my brothers through and through. I’d go to hell and back for any damn one of them.

Still, it’d be nice if one of those fuckers would get off their ass and help me out. I glance out the window, searching for someone I can force to help me, but when I catch a glimpse of Cove straddling Dragon’s lap and Dragon’s hand down the back of Cove’s jeans, I groan.

Scratch that idea.

A chilly presence enters the kitchen despite the heat billowing from the stove. I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. Erin is the ice queen around here. Most days, she hides out at Copper and Stormy’s, but when she’s forced to socialize with the group, she brings her ice daggers, usually aimed for my heart.

“Bermuda,” she clips out.

“Erin.” I sigh, turning to face her. “How are you?”

She bristles and frowns, turning her glare to the floor. “Not well.”

Tossing the dish towel that was in my hands onto the counter, I prowl toward her. Though she’s an ice queen, sometimes she melts in my presence. I’ve had her naked and beneath meenough times to know it’s possible to get her hot. But usually when she gets what she wants, she moves along her merry little way.

It shouldn’t hurt, but it does.

There’s something inside Erin I want to save and nurture and heal. She, like Dragon, was a victim of human trafficking, forced to perform sexually and on camera. It’s amazing she’s still down to fuck considering her past. From what I’ve gathered from her and the others, she doesn’t fuck just anyone either. Just me. Our little secret.

“What’s going on?” I demand, using a finger beneath her chin to lift it and force her eyes to meet mine. “Are you sick?”

Her brows knit together. “It’s nothing.”

I take the liberty of kissing her pursed lips. “If you’re hurting, it’s not nothing. Talk to me.”

Her nostrils flare. “We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend, Bermuda. We’re nothing.”

Ouch.

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