Page 49 of Spooked
Now my house has been transformed, with knick-knacks, cushions, throws and books combining to make this a real home. My kitchen? Well, I thought I knew all the important things about the woman I’d brought into my life, but I had missed something important. She loved to cook and delighted in the kitchen I’d had installed, almost as much as I’ve enjoyed eating the results.
To top it all off, yesterday I got rid of my cast. I was dismayed at how much muscle wastage there was, and how, when I walked, I still automatically favoured my left leg. But Peg told me he’s already developed a routine that will have me fit in no time. Somehow, I suspect that will be worse than the Hell Week I experienced in the Marines.
Last night I was able to make love properly with my woman for the first time, with no impediment between us, and I'd say, she blew my mind. Compatible? Fuck, she’s my match in every way. There’s not a surface of this house we haven’t christened, even though, up to now, we’ve had to be inventive. I think eating her out on the kitchen table has to be my favourite, or bending her over the couch, or in the shower, when we discovered the stool was strong enough to bear both our weight. Oh, let’s face it, I love having her anytime, any way, and she’s never had any complaints. Many times, she’s the initiator.
And here she is now, looking like a vision in a dress that reveals the curves that are slowly rounding out on her body, as she puts back on the pounds she lost while she was in that coma. My mouth salivates, and my cock stands to attention to the stimuli as rapidly as Pavlov’s dog.
“Down, boy.” She chuckles as she comes over, goes on tiptoe, plants the palms of her hands on my cheeks, and pulls me down for a kiss. “We’ve no time if we don’t want to be late.”
“They wouldn’t miss us,” I counter.
“Sure,” she retorts. “But we need to be down there before the guest of honour. I’ll let you see what’s under this dress later.”
Now she’s got me intrigued. I lift her onto the kitchen counter, smoothing my hands up her thighs. “Fuck me, you’re going to kill me, woman.” She’s wearing stockings and a garter belt.
I stumble and laugh as she pushes me away. “Later,” she promises, with a glint in her eyes.
Knowing she won’t be dissuaded, and that she’s right, I slide on my cut, then pick up hers and hand it to her. I’d wasted no time claiming her, she’d immediately slotted into my life. And, it seems she loves wearing her “Property of Hound” patch, which declares she’s mine. A sense of belonging she’s not had for some time. On my part? The still-healing tattoo over my heart shows she owns me, too.
It’s been a whirlwind, fast, but also so right.
Nothing was normal about how we got together. Though we fudge the story when asked how we met, simply saying it was in the hospital, which at least has a grain of truth. By unspoken agreement, all who were at the Sullivan House on that Halloween night don’t speak about it. It’s easy to understand why. We’d only be going around in circles trying to come up with an explanation that makes sense. In truth, there isn’t one, so there’s no need to go searching.
Bullet, Zane and Shooter might wonder how the house had demolished itself, but they had no other option than to agree it was in a worse state than anyone had expected. Neither Drummer, Peg, Blade, Wraith, or I offered any alternative, nor admitted we were there when it came down. Of course, Maeve now owns the plot, or will once Alex has sorted out the legalities, and proven the new will is legit.
The jewels? Well I’ve installed a safe to hold them. Maeve wants to keep them rather than sell, and I’m in full agreement with her.
Her fist lightly hits my arm. “Stop daydreaming and let’s get down to the clubhouse.”
In answer, I offer a sharp salute.
Trying hard not to limp, I walk beside her down to the clubhouse. Stepping inside, I spot the huge banner taped up behind the bar sporting the words,Welcome home.A few bottles of champagne stand ready to be opened, and it feels right tocelebrate this momentous day, although the sparkling stuff is more likely to be devoured by the old ladies than us men. We’ll stick to beer and the hard stuff.
The room is packed to the rafters. Maeve gives me a kiss then goes to join the tables which have been pushed together to house the original old ladies, Carmen, Sandy, Sam, Sophie, Darcy, Becca, Charlotte, Tash, Allie and Mariana, the latter who’s dragged herself away from Mouse’s and her horses for the day. She’s accompanied by their daughters, Yiska, Tanya and Maria. Fitting in with them well are the newer additions to the old lady ranks, Gwen and Virginia. Then there’s Isabel, Maya, Zoey, Rose, Hope, Lisa, Eliza, Hilda and Alexis. So many club “children,” I’m hard-pressed to keep their parents straight. They’re mostly grown now, though. Their brothers are also scattered around, or those who could get away to return to Tucson at short notice, Jacob, Mason and Aiden.
Olivia’s watching over not only her baby daughter, but also trying to keep Wizard and Amy’s kid, Calvin, amused, while Tommy’s beaming as he watches them, looking like a proud grandpa. Though when Calvin shows him a toy car, he looks delighted, just like the overgrown kid that he is.
As Maeve heads toward them, I pause for a moment to watch her, happy how quickly she’s been welcomed into the pack, and how well she fits in. Not that she had much of a chance with Sam and Sophie all but adopting her. After a lifetime spent mainly alone, Maeve’s blossomed as her tribe has expanded around her. Ah, now Alex has found her. Good, I was hoping the two of them would catch up.
“Big day.” Joker slaps my back. As usual, Lady is right beside him.
“Certainly is,” I respond, and after exchanging chin lifts, move further into the fray. Bullet and Rock are deep in conversation with Dart, who’d moved to San Diego before Ijoined the club. The trio offers me a three-fingered salute as I pass.
Marvel’s blocking my way, and idly rests his hand on my cut for a moment, as I sidle around him.
“Drink, Hound?” Jekyll asks, noticing my approach and having the bartender's attention.
“Beer,” I request gratefully. As he passes an opened bottle to me, I raise it to my lips.
“How you doing?” Truck asks, who’s standing with Drifter. “Ready for this?”
I’m about to answer when Dollar steps in close and gets my attention. “Glad you patched Maeve so she can’t run away. She’s taken a load of weight off my shoulders.”
“Guess you’re an F.O.G. for real now, Brother. You got your pipe and slippers sorted out?”
“Fuck off,” he growls, but his grin gives his real feelings away.
Turning, I spy Hawk and Throttle and approach them. Neither is wearing their slings, and both are looking the picture of health. We spend a moment discussing our various recovery journeys and the exercise regime that Peg’s going to have us all on.
