Page 39 of Driving Whiskey Wild
“I’ve got notes,” she said happily.
Biggs limped over, serious eyes on Bullet.
Seeing his sweet girl flanked by him and his father, the rest of the brotherhood watching, wondering what was going to go down, made Bullet’s gut tense up.
“I’ve got this, Pop,” Bullet assured him.
His father’s gaze dropped to Finlay, and his bushy mustache twitched as he said, “Finlay, nice to see you again, darlin’.”
“Thank you, Mr. Whiskey…Biggs. I still have trouble calling you that.” She withdrew a notebook from her bag and turned to Biggs with a happy sigh. “I have some great ideas.”
Chuckles from Bear and Bones earned harsh glares from Bullet as he took Finlay by the arm and led her toward the door. “Let’s go, babe. You can’t be in church.”
“Church? I thought you were talking with the guys.” She spun around, her gaze surfing over the pool table, dartboards, and about thirty sets of eyes watching her. “There are no women here.” Her eyes widened. “Why aren’t there women here? This isn’t church.” She stepped out of his reach and headed back toward the center of the room.
“Church is what we call our club meetings,” Biggs explained. “And I’m sorry, darlin’, but it’s just us men.” Biggs had been raised by a hard-core biker who lived by the old-school mentality of men bearing total responsibility for everything in life—family, the club, business. And part of that lifestyle meant protecting women at all costs, including keeping them buffered from the darker side of things with regard to the club.
“Really? That’s so sexist, and archaic.” She shot a look at Bear. “Crystal is okay with this?”
Bear nodded, trying—and failing—to school his amused expression.
“Well, that seems weird in this day and age, but okay,” she said. “Can I just tell these guys about my ideas?” She flipped open the notebook.
Some of the guys were shifting restlessly in their seats. Bullet took the notebook from her hands and ushered her toward the door. “Sorry, babe. Not here. Not now.”
“But—”
He knew he’d catch hell for it, but he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her deeply as he lifted her struggling body into his arms and carried her out the door. When they were a safe distance away from the clubhouse, he broke their connection and set her on her feet.
“Bullet!” She huffed as she smoothed her dress. “I can’t believe you did that!”
“You’re a baby chick in the middle of a cockfight in there. Sorry, Finlay, but no sweethearts allowed in the club.”
“I heard that, but why?” She crossed her arms as arrogantly as she’d faced him the first day she’d come into the bar to meet with Dixie, and it still did something funky to his gut.
“Because we discuss guy stuff. Club business.”
“Guy stuff.” She rolled her eyes. “You said your club held family-friendly events, and Dixie’s in it, right? She’s a woman.”
Goddamn it. “We do have family-friendly events, and the idea of a rally fundraiser is a good one. In fact, we have a charity ride coming up in a few weeks. We can piggyback off that,” he said, hoping to distract her from her other questions. He didn’t want to get into a pissing match over women’s rights or that kind of shit.
“Perfect, and maybe we can end the ride here at the bar and do some sort of a grand opening for the kitchen.” She smiled and said, “Now, back to the boys club. What do you guys do in there?” Her eyes narrowing accusatorily. “Are there no women, or just no ‘sweethearts’ or girlfriends allowed?”
She was jealous? Women didn’t get jealous over him. Well, hell, he felt good and bad about that, and it softened him enough to give her the answers she wanted. “No women at all, okay? Not during meetings.”
“Whatever. I’m not used to that.” She shook her head.
“I’m sure you’re not. But when we’re not meeting, when there are events, it’s cool; you can be there with me. And Dixie isn’t a member like the guys are. As the daughter of the president, she’s a princess, well respected.”
“And Red? Where does she fit in? And Crystal?”
“Red’s my father’s old lady. She’s the queen, babe, wife of the president. And Crystal’s Bear’s old lady. Everyone respects them.”
“Well, you guys have strange ways of doing things. I hope you don’t think I’ll take a backseat in our relationship, or let you bully me.”
He pulled her closer and gazed into her confident, determined eyes. “The only thing you’ll take a backseat on is my bike. Hopefully. Eventually. You’re my queen, Finlay Wilson, and I’ll protect you to the ends of the earth. But I need you to respect the brotherhood in the club. Women add a layer of trouble when you have a group of guys. People start hooking up; lines are drawn, loyalties divided. There are reasons for the archaic nature of the brotherhood, and none of those reasons have to do with a lack of respect for women. It’s just the opposite.”
Her gaze softened, and a small, reluctant smile lifted her lips. “Well, I’d rather be your queen than your old lady, but I prefer to be called your girlfriend.”
“I don’t care what I call you, lollipop, as long as I know you’re mine.”
Chapter Sixteen
BULLET HELD THE pink ribbon he’d tied to the gift he had for Finlay and dragged the cool metal lightly along her bare hip as she slept Thursday morning. Tinkerbell lay with her chin resting on his calf, her dark eyes following his movements along Finlay’s waist and up her arm. Finlay nuzzled against Bullet’s chest, making a sweet, sleepy noise. Between interviewing candidates for the kitchen staff at the bar, working on menus, and coordinating the fundraiser, which Bullet had gotten unanimous approval for Monday night, she’d been on a dead run. He was thankful she’d been brave enough to overcome her fear of dogs and get to know Tinkerbell, which allowed them to spend the nights together at his place, as they’d done ever since.
He brushed his beard along her shoulder and kissed his way down her breastbone. She rolled onto her back with a heady sigh, eyes still closed as she reached for him. He loved how she always wanted him as much as he wanted her, but this time he gently moved her hands to the side and lowered his mouth over her nipple, teasing her with his tongue. She bowed off the mattress, mewling, her hands fisting in the sheets.
Tinkerbell sat up, and Bullet whispered, “Down, girl.”
The pup slinked off the bed, used to the command she’d heard a lot over the past several days. Bullet set the gift on the pillow, so he could give Finlay the attention she deserved. He moved over her, settling his hips between hers, and laced their hands together. He loved that extra connection. A smile lifted her lips and she blinked sleepily. He loved her sleepy smile as much as he adored all her others—the excited one that reached all the way up to her beautiful eyes, the playful ones that were usually accompanied by a shy fluttering of her long lashes, her seductive smile, the one that turned her eyes midnight blue, and one of his favorites, her sated, happy smile, which she probably didn’t realize she made. He saw that one when she was curled up in his arms, her body flushed and warm, still damp from their lovemaking. That was the sweetest smile of all. The one that told him that she was falling for him just as deeply as he was falling for her. The smile that said, I’m yours. Please don’t let me go.
He knew he never would.
“Mm,” she said sleepily. “I do like my Bullet in the morning.”
He brushed the head of his cock against her center, and she spread her legs wider. “I seem to remember you liking me in the middle of the night, too.”
He dipped his head and glided his tongue over her taut nipple again. When she arched up, he moved to the other one, teasing her with light flicks of his tongue, then circling the tip until she was panting. Her hips rose off the bed, and he pressed the base of his cock against her slick heat. He took one nipple between his teeth and tugged.
“Oh—” She whimpered, and he did it again.
With each tug she grew wetter, and her hips rocked faster. Each time they made love was a new adventure born from his dire need to be closer to her, to have more of her. And more came in nips, invasions of his tongue and fingers, tugs on her hair, and dirty talk. He wasn’t into restraints or other kinky shit, like some guys he knew were, and before Finlay, he’d never given two thoughts to what he liked sexually. Sex was always good, hard, complete. A much-needed release. But with Finlay, he wanted to touch all of her, to hear how much she wanted him and in what ways. Not because he got off on control, but because the trust and emotions they shared in those moments did him in. He craved those things more than the act of sex itself.
He sealed his lips over her nipple and sucked hard.
Her entire body craned up. “Bullet—”
“Sorry, babe. Too hard?”
She shook her head vehemently, and that seductive smile he loved so much sent rivers of heat washing through him.
“Too good,” she whispered.
“God, lollipop, you destroy me.” He traced the swell of her lower lip with his tongue. “Tell me what you want, babe.”
