Page 96 of Beautifully Wounded

Ugh, I’ve been nothing but a horndog lately.

Couldit be from being around people that have open sex so freely, or is it just him?

Maybe it’s from the kiss we shared. It was a kiss I asked for in a moment of desperation, and even though he said he’d love to kiss me, he could have said that to be polite.

Are motorcycle club members normally so nice?

Ugh.

“Brunch is ready!” Casey calls, and hoots follow from all the hungry men.

I go to get off Ringo’s lap to get us a plate of food, but his large hand resting on my thigh grips it, giving it a squeeze.

“Stay right where you are.”

A shiver runs up my spine at the gravel in his tone and the way he breathes the words against my ear.

Heck. Why does his warm breath feel so damn good?

Stop it, Abbey. He doesn’t actually like you like that.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask quietly, remaining as still as I can since his lips are still pressed to my ear, lingering, and I can still feel the heat of his breath.

“I’m famished,” he rasps, squeezing me tighter, and I can’t help it. My lids flutter closed, and I melt into him even more.

“Here’s your food, Ringo.”

The sweet female voice jolts me from my daze, seeming to have the same effect on Ringo, and I look up to see one of the younger Doxies standing before us, holding out two plates.

“Thanks, Nessy. Pop them on the table.” Ringo gestures to the white plastic table to our right.

She smiles timidly and nods, placing the plates down before scurrying away, and I glance at what she brought us.

One plate has an array of cooked barbeque meat items, while the other plate has grilled vegetables.

“Let’s get some food back into your body,” he mutters, reaching over to the plate and using the fork to stab into a piece of grilled zucchini.

Oh, my… is he going to feed me?

When he holds the fork out, hovering close to my lips, and I don’t make a move, his deep voice rumbles close to my ear again. “Open those pretty lips, Angel.”

What the…

I shake my head, my gaze darting around the yard to see a few of the big scary bikers looking on, while some of the Doxies pretend not to be looking, but sneak glances every now and then.

“Open. Now,” he demands, and just like the other times he’s demanded me, my body obeys even though I try to stop it, and my lips part for him to slip the vegetable in.

The moment the flavour hits my tongue, I’m done for.

My lids flutter closed, and I think I even moan as I start chewing.

“Fuck, that’s hot.”

My eyes snap open at his whispered words, but he pretends not to care about my sudden stiff posture, and he feeds me a grilled piece of carrot this time.

He doesn’t even have to ask. My lips part immediately, ready for more, and as I chew the carrot, dread settles in my stomach.

Why do I do that? Why does he demand things, and even when I’m not sure I want to comply, I still do?

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