“Of course, though it’s not as fun. What would you like to talk about?”
I study his dark face. A few small scars are imbedded in the hardened features, and there’s a piercing on his lip with tattoos all the way up to the top of his neck. He’s got one of those things in his ear that admittedly I hate, but somehow he pulls it off. Perhaps all the hotness that is him drowns that part out? Who knows? All I know is he makes me weak in the knees.
“What’s your favorite color?” I ask.
He leans back and studies me. “Out of all the questions you could ask, the one that comes to mind is what my favorite color is?”
I shrug. It wasn’t, but it seemed the safest to go with.
“Black,” he answers.
“Black isn’t a color.”
“What color is that dress you’re wearing?”
I frown at him. “Okay, well, black is a kind of a color. It absorbs light. It’s like the absence of color.”
“You make my brain hurt. But I do find myself wishing that the dress you are wearing is absent, so I’ll agree with you on that.”
I sigh heavily, but it’s more to stop the giggle that bubbles up at his hound dog expression. “Your turn,” I tell him, glad he’s giving me a little room to breathe.
“Are you wet?”
I was taking a sip of my coffee, but at his words I stop mid-drink and nearly choke. “I said no sex talk!”
He winks at me and leans back in the chair. “Where are you from?”
My heart speeds up, but I breathe evenly and relax. There’s nothing he can find out if I do this right.
“Montana.”
“That fits,” he answers cryptically. “How did you end up in Georgia?”
“That’s two questions. It’s supposed to be my turn.”
“I’ll owe you one.”
“My mother remarried.”
“You don’t sound happy about it. Who’s your stepdad?”
“Ah, ah, ah. It’s my turn. Umm… What made you decide to join a motorcycle gang?”
“Club, not gang.” He grumbles. I can tell the question irritates him.
“Club,” I amend, waiting.
“That is a question for another time,” he says, getting up and reaching out his hand to me.
“Time to go?” I ask stupidly, because I don’t really want him to leave yet. I enjoy our time together. In fact, spending the mornings with Skull has become the highlight of my day.
“I’m afraid so, querida. I have a meeting I can’t reschedule.”
I get up and let him lead me outside. He always holds me close and puts his hand on my lower back. I like the feeling. It feels as if he has to have me near. I don’t think I’ve ever had that.
“Thank you for breakfast. I’ve really enjoyed talking with you this week,” I tell him lamely as we come to a stop outside the café. Then he does something that I’ve been admittedly wanting from the first time he spoke to me. His hand slides around the side of my neck and he pulls me to him. The texture of his skin is rough, and a shiver runs through me at the way he grabs and demands I follow his lead. At the same time he pulls me into him, his thumb applies pressure under my chin, so I raise my lips towards him. I don’t really need the encouragement. I want his kiss.
At first, his lips against mine scare me. His taste is intense and I want to drink from it. I may never want to stop. But the cold metal of the hoop in his lip touches me and it feels… strange. Does it hurt him? How do I kiss him?
“Run your tongue over it and tug gently,” he coaches, reading my mind, and I do as he instructed. It feels different, but erotic… especially when he groans and shifts my head so he can delve into my mouth. I guess he likes my fumbling. That’s the last sane thought I have before I get completely lost in his kiss and the way his tongue seeks out every inch of my mouth.
When we break away, I say the only word I can think of at the moment: “Wow.”
He lets out a snort of laughter, and his fingers wrap into the hair at the back of my neck. The pressure is enough to cause a small sting of pain. He rests his forehead against mine. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but I like it. Eventually, he pulls away and his dark eyes look dangerous, intense. They are predatory.
“I think my knees are weak,” I tell him before I can stop myself.
“Come with me, Beth. You can wait for me at the club, then I will most definitely fuck you until your knees are weak. You won’t be able to stand for days,” he promises, and I’m completely positive he could make good on that promise.
But I need to go back to reality. “You keep bringing up sex. I feel it only fair to tell you, I’ve taken a vow of chastity,” I tell him, avoiding eye contact.
“Chastity? Mujer loca! What the fuck for?”
“My life is complicated. This is a way to simplify it.”
“So, you are saving yourself for marriage?” he asks incredulously. It annoys me because, although it’s not a popular decision in the biker world, it is not completely unheard of in the rest of the world.