Page 22 of Devil's Due

But she seems focused on my chest, and now, on my arms. “You’re very big and muscular, Beef. I can see how you got your name.” The same touch from another woman would give me completely the wrong idea. Hers, well, it’s just like someone else staring. As I look down at the tight tee she’s wearing over figure hugging jeans, I’m wishing I could take the same liberty. But feasting my eyes will have to do.

“Are you looking at my tits?” she asks, her voice amused.

“What? No?” I lie. “Why do you ask?”

“Because that’s what men do, isn’t it?”

It feels natural to lean forward and place my lips against her cheek. “You caught me. I may have told a small fib.”

“Have you got tattoos?”

“One or two.” The laughter comes through my voice. There’s not much of my skin that isn’t inked.

“A stereotypical biker?” She smiles. “Describe them?”

“Well, on my back I’ve got a full back patch. It’s the Satan’s Devils insignia, the Devil with a scythe looming over three demons.”

Her smile widens. “I’m picturing it. What else?”

I run through some of my other tats, her hand tracing them as I describe them. “Let’s leave the rest for later.” My cock is currently going mad with her tactile exploration and I’ve got to stop this before I do something stupid like tell her my dick is tattooed.

“Yes.” To my combined relief and disappointment, she stands. “Drink your coffee. Bathroom’s down the hall. Clean towels are in there if you want a shower. I’ll get some breakfast going. Bacon and eggs?”

“Thank you.”

By the time I’m showered and dressed—a quick trip to my bike to grab a clean tee in the saddle bag—she’s got breakfast on the table.

“I did scrambled eggs. Fried can be a bit hit and miss.”

“It’s perfect.” Indeed it is. It might be because I’m extra hungry, but it’s one of the most delicious breakfasts I’ve had. I’m still amazed how she managed to cook it. Intrigued, I ask her.

“By smell,” she replies. Her face completely straight.

“Really?” My eyes widen. “You can tell when something’s cooked by the smell?”

Her head bobs up and down fast. “Yup.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.”

“When I smell smoke, I know it’s overcooked.”

It takes me a second then I roar with laughter. “You’re pulling my leg,” I complain.

“A bit,” she agrees with a smile.

Her smile is even broader when half an hour later we’re allowed to go in and see Max. James takes her to an indoor kennel where Max is lying, tubes and wires attached to him. I’m glad she can’t see them, but James takes her hand and gently traces them with her, explaining the gadgets that monitor his heart rate, and the IV running into his leg providing him with sustenance. He explains he’s quiet because of the pain relievers and mild sedative he’s been given to help him keep still.

Stevie’s not the only one over the moon to learn he’s progressing well, and, that if there are no problems today, James will operate on his leg the next morning.

The best bit? Well that was when Max opened his eyes and his tongue came out to lick the hand of his mistress. I had a tear in my eye at that point, which I turned and rubbed discretely away.

We visit for an hour. When she leaves with assurances James will call if anything changes, and a promise that yes, she can visit this evening, all too soon we’re standing in front of her house, and I suddenly don’t want to leave her. She’s easy company, while, apart from Paladin, I have virtual strangers waiting for me at the clubhouse.

“Want me to take you back later?”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t. I offered.” Watching the sunlight play on her gorgeous hair, highlighting streaks of natural red in it, I know more time in her company would be no hardship at all. “Honestly, babe. I feel invested in Max’s recovery. I’d like to check up on how he’s doing too.”

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