Page 96 of Walking Red Flag

None of them had been welcoming.

There were quite a few women, and even a few that I noticed were clearly ‘with’ the men.

But none of them wore those vests you saw in romance novels proclaiming them ‘belonging’ to a member of the MC.

I wondered idly if I’d ever get something like that, or if it was truly something that only happened in dramatized stories.

“On that one.” Cutter laughed as he stood up from behind me where he’d been sitting on my bench and cuddling me close. “We gotta go. Milena has to be up at the ass crack of dawn, and I have to get her to the airport for her six in the fuckin’ morning flight.”

I snickered.

To say that Cutter wasn’t a morning person would be an understatement.

I’d learned this multiple times over the last few weeks, and it’d yet to get any better.

I doubted it ever would.

Sadly, the job that Cutter had taken on had pretty much demanded he be there early, per businesslike standards.

If he’d had his choice he’d be there ‘whenever he fuckin’ felt like it.’

His words, not mine.

To be honest, I kind of liked the idea of coming in later, too.

The idea of a coffee shop opening early didn’t sound nearly as awful until after I had a warm man in my bed to keep me company.

When Cutter’s hand came out to help me up, I took it, his large palm engulfing my tiny one.

The tingles started the moment his bare skin touched mine.

That was a lie, though.

His body had been wrapped around me all night.

He’d placed his hands on my bare thighs, running his palms up and down the length of my legs. He’d wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in tight to him. He’d placed kisses on my neck and shoulders.

He’d been playing the long game all night, and I was at the breaking point.

And the thought of getting on that bike and riding nearly thirty minutes home—if traffic was cooperating—sounded like torture.

Turning in his arms, I stared up at him and said, “You never showed me your room.”

His eyes turned curious as he said, clearly misunderstanding why I was asking, “It’s just a bed in a room the size of a Post-it Note.”

The operative word there was “bed.”

Though, I suppose, with Cutter’s strength, he didn’t necessarily need a bed.

I hummed before going up on my tippy toes and saying, “Show me.”

His hands on my hips tightened, I was guessing still in confusion but curiosity as well, and I flushed when he started to drag me toward a long hallway.

The clubhouse itself was one large barndominium with a kitchen on one side and the bedrooms on the other side of a very large, open room.

There were a shit ton of couches, a bar, and TVs. A lot of them.

I’d gone to the bathroom, which was one of four in the long hallway on the left side.

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