Page 121 of Resurfaced Passion
He looked just like the man she’d met that first day.
Gone was the beanie hat, replaced with his black backwards baseball cap. Dressed in simple worn denim that hugged his legs, his regular scuffed biker boots and a plain white t-shirt, her man was edible, better than any ganache or fondant she could make.
Hands rested low on his hips, she pressed her chest into his and smiled when he rumbled a groan. It didn’t take much to stoke Reaper’s fires.
Paige also downplayed her clothes today too. White/red/blue swirl patterned three-quarter yoga pants, a plain tank top and tennis shoes, and her hair was caught up in a top bun.
“Ready for this? You can always change your mind.”
He growled. “I’m ready.”
“Because you know living with a woman, we tend to like our own way. And nag about taking out the trash and you watching too much football.”
One side of his mouth quirked, and his mouth met hers seconds later in a toe-curling kiss. “Let’s get you moved, baby.”
Perfect. He was her kind of perfect.
* * *
On a trip through the courtyard back to the moving truck where it was parked at the curb—how did all that shit fit in one tiny apartment, is what he wanted to know, ‘cause they’d been moving boxes and furniture for an hour now—he caught Lawless with a big box of Paige’s recipe books coming in, Reaper jutted his chin and directed him to the largest closet in the hallway. “Just make room for it in that closet over there for now.”
He was so fucking happy Paige was moving in, he could barely keep the smile off his face. He told two prospects where to put Paige’s vanity dresser and then headed back inside. His girl was making sandwiches for the guys in the kitchen and he needed his hands on her.
But the smile fell when Lawless emerged holding a square of paper. A photograph he knew well. Panic stole through Reaper’s nervous system as he rushed across the space and grabbed it out of Lawless’ hand, glancing at his wedding day briefly before shoving the photo into his back pocket. “Not a fucking word, you got it?” He hissed. “Not a fucking word.”
“It fell out of a box on the top shelf. All makes sense now. A kid from New Zealand suddenly in Colorado. I hate puzzles with no solution, and you were one big fucking Rubik’s cube.” Lawless looked like he was fitting pieces together and getting the whole story and Reaper didn’t like it one damn bit, his gut sloshed around panicked acid.
Reaper was gonna lose his fucking mind and punch Lawless if he kept talking.
“I did a background check on you, just like I do all the boys, but there was always this whole chunk of time where you were just… off the grid and I couldn’t figure out why. I reckoned you’d done time, or you know … joined a fucking cult or something.”
His heart slowed, dragged and restarted again.
After a lot of staring and silence, Lawless spoke. “You need anything, brother?”
Reaper shook his head, relief stinging his throat.
Lawless clapped him on the shoulder and strolled out of the apartment.
His secret was still that.
But any day now that box would burst wide open and then what would Paige think of him and what he’d done? Would she understand? Hate him?
And like a typical man with a good working—always wanting to fuck—dick, he easily compartmentalized this new level to his clusterfuck when that night after everyone had gulped down pizzas and beers and Paige flitted around his boys like a great hostess—even though he told her they could walk to the fridge themselves—and after she’d sat on his lap for an hour listening to those jerks telling stories on him which she loved, he kicked everyone out and fucked his woman on their bed until his heart threatened to give out after round three.
Reaper lay like a corpse, his pulse thudding through his ears when he felt the bed move and his girl climbed on top of him.
He groaned. Part whine, ‘cause he didn’t think his body could go again, and part arousal, at least the spirit was willing.
Peeling his eyelids open it was in time to watch her situating her naked self across his thighs, like the perfect queen and his legs were her throne. Jesus Christ, she was insanely hot. Her hair free and messy, her cheeks blooming with sex-color. Tits so perky with their hard peaks and the wet place between her legs brushing against his legs.
There was nothing pure inside Reaper’s brain when he canted his head back on the pillow and lifted with his hips in hopes she just fell on his rousing dick. Huh, look at that, he thought, he could go again. It was a dick miracle.
She squeaked. That fucking noise railed electricity directly to the pulsing pipe.
“Little higher, baby.” He patted his chest if she needed a direction.
His mouth flooded with water seeing her lavender tinted eyes flicker closed and air puffed out of her lips, but she tentatively, with her hands balanced on his chest, started to crawl and inch upwards.
