Page 20 of Her Biker Daddy

Tate made me model all of the clothes I bought myself with daddy’s money, and the way he looked when I had on a pair of my knee high socks and the sheer white nightie, had me pouncing on him. I jumped up onto his lap, my hands pushing up under his shirt to get to his stomach and he just picked me up, swinging me over his shoulder, and walked us into the bedroom, tossing me onto the bed. I thought he was going to break, give me what I needed, what I know was in his eyes as well, but instead, he tickled me until I was almost crying from the laughter.

He wrapped me up in his strong arms and just held me to him, his lips whispering kisses all over my face and it was pure bliss. The only thing that could have made it better was if he’d taken me all over again, but he’s adamant about waiting until later tonight and I’m so on edge.

“Don’t be nervous, most everyone will love you,” Tate says, pulling my eyes up to him in surprise.

“Most everyone?” I ask as he brings me into his arms.

“Some of the club girls will likely be jealous. There’s no spot higher than being the pres’ old lady, so some of them may not be gracious losers when they see I’ve got you now. None of them will get close to hurting you though, I won’t let them, and no matter what any of them try to say, I’ve never touched any of them, and never will, I promise you that,” he adds and my brow lifts a bit higher at his tone.

“Is there someone in particular you’re talking about I should be wary of?” I ask him.

“One of the club girls has attempted to get into my bed in the past. She’s been aggressive about it, but there’s not a single thing about her that turns me on, baby. Some of the others like fucking her too much and they blocked my vote to evict her a couple years ago. She’s a skinny bleach blonde with fake tits named Lori, and if she tries to butter up to you and acts nice, don’t buy it.”

“Are all of the club girls skinny?” I query as we reach the bottom of the staircase, stopping him from turning down the hallway to reach the dining room.

“Nope, some clubs may go for that, but the guys around here have their own preferences. We’ve got a couple skinny twigs like Lori, but then there a host of others that are somewhere between sizes six and well, I’d say Andrea is likely around a twenty-six. She’s bigger than you are, baby girl, but the guys keep going back to her for more,” he answers and my heart races a bit hearing that. “Not me—if you believe nothing else I ever say, I need you to believe me when I swear I haven’t slept with a woman in nine years until you came into my life.”

“I do believe you, daddy,” I promise. The look in his eyes is as sincere as when he held me this morning, and then in the fitting room when I was all over the place. “I just don’t know how I’d feel if other guys…”

“Would want you like that?” he questions, and I nod. “Lucky for you, I’ve already claimed you as mine and none of them would be dumb enough to go against the president of the club.”

“Except you with Hinton?” I muse, giggling when he lifts me up, giving me a hard kiss before settling me back onto my feet.

“That wasn’t dumb, that was self-preservation or maybe club preservation. If we’d gone down that route, I’d have either left the club and ended up in jail for taking out other fuckers that were doing shit like that, or dead after going after the rest of the club when they were doing it. If a girl shows up here that’s underage looking to be invited in as a club girl, she’s sent packing. If they’re coming to the club for help, we’ll see they get somewhere safe, but they don’t stay here, not even if they’re seventeen. The only kids allowed are blood—or from marriage or adoption by a patch. That’s a hard fast rule I set when I took over, some of the other guys lived by it before I took over, but Hinton wouldn’t have cared if a girl was fifteen if she agreed to…”

I smile, brushing my fingers across his lips because he can’t even bring himself to talk about underage girls and sex and I love that about him.

“You’re good in here where it counts,” I state, putting my hand over his heart, and he pulls me into his side, moving us down the hall towards the dining room.

“I’m about to keel over here baby girl, but I need to feed you. We skipped lunch and you’re going to need your strength when I get you in bed later,” he growls, and I don’t begin to argue.

We move into the space and it’s far more crowded than it was last night. I’m guessing it’s not the only hangout spot in the place. I mean, depending on how much was finished, there’d be a gym somewhere around here, and as buff as Tate is, I’d say he likely goes to one.

Eyes slip over our way, the noise level dropping and Tate’s hand slips further around my waist and rests on my belly, keeping me up against his side. “Before part of you head out for the night, I want you to meet Everly. She’s mine and if any of you put a hand on her, I’ll put my knife through it. Same goes for the eyes, look at her wrong, and you’ll lose them.”

“And in case you think he’s bluffing, we’re down two cops that tried to attack his girl last night,” Meyer adds quieting some of the chuckles.

“Things ended very bloody for them,” Spawn tacks on, giving Tate a nod, and there’s a look of respect in his eyes while Meyer looks a bit green.

Tate just smirks, guiding me over to the same table as this morning, and I settle into the seat next to him, giving him a grin when he tugs it closer to his and his arm wraps around my shoulders. His fingers tease along the strap of the dress that he bought me. It’s a tank top style that I’m comfortable wearing without something covering my arms. They’re never going to skinny. I accepted that a long time ago, and I’ve grown to love my body. Even more with the way Tate took care of me last night before taking me.

“Anything special you want for dinner tonight, Pres?” Slice asks drawing my attention off him for a second.

“This is Slice,” Tate says, apparently forgetting the man briefly mentioned it this morning when he brought out our food. “He also helps out in the kitchen in the evenings when most of the club’s in house, but he mainly handles breakfast. Chef is the main cook for dinner. He posts a weekly menu and makes huge helpings of everything but if someone wants something different Slice can usually make it. He’s called Slice because he made the best damn pie anyone in the club ever had to keep us from cutting him about five years ago, when we realized he couldn’t shoot for shit.”

“Still can’t, but none of you complain about the food,” he states, and I laugh softly when Tate shrugs, feeling so much better about his name now after the slight darkness of his expression last night. “So, anything special you want tonight? Chef made bbq pulled pork.”

“How about you do a couple smashed patties with Swiss and toast the bun. Do a fresh onion slices on the side and a mayo-ketchup mix for dipping. That sound good, baby girl?” Tate asks looking down at me and I grin, a bit curious about the different meal, but happy he knows me enough to know I hate cooked onions. I even hate it when they get soft when they sit on a hot burger, so having them on the side where I can eat them nice and crisp with the burger is perfect.

“Sounds great, daddy, but I don’t need special treatment,” I add softly to him, smiling when he gives me a sweet kiss.

“Chef’s bbq sauce is spicy as hell. Worse than the buffalo wings at the pizzeria,” he warns, and I nod in understanding. “I’ll have to tell him to start putting some to the side without sauce going forward so you can have some, because other than the sauce, his bbq is top notch.”

“Will he not like that?” I ask as Meyer joins us, sliding a beer to Tate, before putting a glass down in front of me that looks like it could be soda.

“Nah, he’ll be fine with it. He usually does it if we’re having a big club thing where the patches with kids come, but most of the time they don’t join us for every day dinners,” Tate says before tasting my drink, which makes Meyer stare at him. “I don’t think you’re trying to drug her or give her alcohol, brother, just trying to figure out what the hell it was to know if she’d want it or not.”

“Who around here doesn’t drink Coke?” he questions, and I dip my face towards Tate’s shoulder. “Seriously?”

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