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Shay’s body sank further into me, her head resting on my shoulder. “He sounds like an amazing man. So, is that how you got your road name?”
I nodded, staring out into the darkness, where a couple of bright stars sparkled over the rooftops. “Some men show up with nicknames that become their road names, but others earn them during their prospect year. Rook earned grandmaster status in chess when he was twenty-one, hence his road name, and when he took me in, he taught me how to play, and the boys would laugh at how we were always talking plays and moves. When I finally prospected and patched in a few years later, they were already calling me Bishop.”
Shay looked up, pressing her lips together as she smiled. “I know nothing about chess…”
I chuckled. “A bishop moves only diagonally, and a rook moves horizontally and vertically. They complement each other and can work together both defensively and offensively.”
That was the simple version, at least.
I wasn’t exactly the best chess player, and I never once beat Rook, but I learned a lot about strategy—on and off the board—and the importance of seizing moments and opportunities before they passed.
“What about this area,” Shay questioned. She indicated my chest, which was completely clean. “And you still have some space on your back. How come you haven’t filled it yet?”
I looked down at the open space before returning my gaze to her, knowing it probably wouldn’t be long before I added something there. “I’m old, but not old enough that I still don’t have more memories to come that I will want to immortalize on my body. Nights like this, for instance.”
Shay leaned in, pressing her lips to the open space. “You really are quite full of surprises, you know,” she murmured before covering a yawn. I reached over, pressing my cigar into the ashtray and forcing the embers to die out. Shay sat up suddenly. “You don’t have to…”
I hooked my hand around her thigh, pulling her across me so she was straddling my hips.
The blanket that was wrapped around her fell to her hips, and she braced her hands against my chest, the porch light just bright enough to highlight the flush that burned across her cheeks as I sat back for a moment, just admiring the absolute beauty that was her body. Her breasts were perfect handfuls, her waist a little round, and her stomach not quite flat, and there was a small brush of curly hair right above her pussy that I fucking loved.
I was getting old, and while Shay was young, her body and mind screamed woman, and that’s what I wanted.
I was done with club whores.
Done fucking women I knew my brothers also had their dicks in.
I wanted a woman who was mine.
I wanted this—sitting on my porch in the middle of the night with her in my lap, discussing life and the world.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to see this,” I apologized, my hands settling on her thighs.
She reached up, tugging at my beard playfully. “You’re not the only one who was fighting it. For so long, I had myself convinced I had this crush and that it was very much one-sided. I even tried to get over you by getting under someone else.” She shuddered. “I’m so sorry you had to walk in on that the other morning.”
“Ah yes, the little prick with the cardigan who couldn’t wait to get out the door when he saw me,” I muttered, my lip curled in disgust. “That’s really what you thought was going to get you to move on?”
I slipped my hands down beneath the blanket and curled them around her ass cheeks, squeezing gently.
She pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth as she grinned, grinding her hips down. “I was desperate, okay?” she protested, her voice catching as I sat forward and swiped my tongue over her nipple. “Dammit, Bishop, you really don’t want me to get any sleep tonight, do you?”
“We can sleep later,” I told her, hooking my hand around her neck and drawing her close. “Right now, I’m about to make you come until you forget about every other man who has ever touched your body.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
SHAY
“I was just about to call you. Was it busy? You left like an hour ago,” I commented as Bishop walked into the kitchen carrying a stack of pizza boxes.
It was Sunday, and the club would be descending on the house for lunch at any minute. Since Frank’s party had been Friday night, and Bishop and I spent Saturday in our own bubble recovering, neither of us had the energy to get up in time to cook for fifteen to twenty people.
Which was also why I was sitting at the kitchen table, stirring a jug full of cold brew. We probably weren’t the only ones who would need copious cups of coffee. Not to mention I was heading back to work on Wednesday, and my body was still fighting to get back into a normal sleeping rhythm since it had all been thrown out when shit hit the fan.
“Had to stop by the clubhouse and grab something,” he said as he carefully slid the pizzas onto the counter before walking over and pulling an envelope from his back pocket. I frowned as he placed it on the table and slid it toward me. “This is yours.”
I stared at it for a second, confused about what was happening.
“It’s not going to bite you, Shay,” Bishop encouraged, turning away and busying himself with a stack of paper plates. “Just open it.”
