Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
“I know how to roast a sausage on a stick over fire. And how to fry an egg,” he says, unbothered, and glances at me with a grin. This is far from the first time I’m seeing another man naked, but I had this man’s cock inside my mouth. I swallowed his cum. Let him touch me. Is that why being with him like this feels different?
Once I see enough of the fat melted out of the bacon, I move beside him on the blanket with two eggs and a spatula. “Go on, show me.”
Road stalls, licking his lips. “I mean… I always get bits of the shells in.”
“Okay, I’ll help you.” I grab one of the metal mugs I have for coffee and crack the two eggs in there then pass it to him. “Shells dealt with.”
Road laughs. “You really want to see me fail, huh?”
I smirk. “You said you can fry an egg.”
“I can. Never said it’s gonna be the best you’ve had,” he tells me, then pours the contents of the cup into the hot fat and places it on the grille.
I can’t believe I’m fucking around like this with Roadkill. The guy stabbed me with the intent to kill, and now we’re frying an egg together?
I drift away a bit into my own thoughts when I notice lots of the whites slide over to the bacon side. “Push the egg away, or the bacon won’t be as crispy.”
When he moves, I’m certain he’s grabbing the wooden spoon, but then his fingers are in the pan, and he’s shoving the piece of bacon aside. He lets out a hiss and shakes his hand. “Goddamn it!”
“Road! That’s what the spatula’s for!” I grab the utensil to push the egg away, but when I see him nursing his hand, I give up and pull on his wrist. “Show me. You need cold water?”
I might be a bit oversensitive about burns after what I’ve been through in the warehouse, but… he was there too, and the proof is even on his face. He suffered just like I did, and the truth is, I set up that bomb.
He shrugs as I look at the spot on his knuckle where hot oil splashed on his skin. “I’m fine. It barely even hurts anymore.”
I sigh and kiss it, feeling tender about his desperate attempt at doing what I asked him to. Our eyes meet, and we sit like that for a moment, but I end up pulling away, not sure what to say.
“I’ll finish this,” I say and turn my attention to the eggs, while his gaze makes my nape burn hotter than the bacon.
I’m so out of my fucking depth.
Chapter 15
Road
Clyde dusted the eggs with a red spice that added a pleasant, smoky flavor. I’m close to asking what it is, but a part of me wants a repeat of this meal at some point in the future, and if he’s the only one who knows the secret, it will be as special as the first time.
A small gray bird sits on a bush nearby, cocking its head as it watches me trace the tattoo on Clyde’s back. I wish it was something else. Something that doesn’t immediately make my body hair bristle in alarm, but the logo of the Hell’s Butchers MC, a horned devil’s head and two massive cleavers, has been etched into his skin quite beautifully.
“When did you get shot?” I ask, rubbing my thumb over the puckered scar on his lower back.
Clyde hums and lifts himself to his elbows, just enough to take another swig from the whiskey bottle we’ve been sharing. I take it from his hands and take a sip too. This way I’m a little closer to his lips. An almost kiss.
“That was a good seven years back,” he says and drops back down to the blanket, face turned to me. He’s so fucking handsome, and in the strong sunlight, his blue eyes are magic. Pure as a glacier. “A cop shot me. We were running after a deal gone bad, but I still managed to jump a fence and get away. Only time I ever got arrested, they had to let me go ‘cause they didn’t have shit on me.”
Usually, I’d think his self-satisfied smirk is very punchable, that he’s so full of himself he needs to be brought down a peg, but I can’t force myself to feel that when he strokes my naked thigh as if I’m a unicorn he caught.
If he keeps touching me like this, my horn will be standing to attention very soon. For now, I’m enjoying the sunshine, stretched on the blanket, with his hand wandering over my skin as if he’s never seen anything more interesting. It’s still May, and the air can bring a chill, but under the intense sun, my muscles relax, and I turn into a lazy cat resting in its owner’s lap by the fire.