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That grin quickly disappeared as he studied the woman in his messy bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he washed the sheets, but at least they weren’t full of cum stains since he hadn’t brought a woman upstairs to his bed yet. And he was sure as fuck his bed was cleaner than the cage, or room, or wherever Red had been kept locked up.
She had probably slept directly on a concrete or dirt fucking floor.
A muscle in his jaw popped as that image flashed through his mind.
At least he had a great fucking mattress. When he moved in, that was the one thing he’d splurged on. Especially after sleeping for years on those shitty mattresses in prison that were nothing more than a thin pad. Worse, they’d be covered in supposedly “washed” sheets with dark pube hairs stuck throughout the rough fabric. Not his own pubes, of fucking course.
He carefully sat on the edge of his thick memory foam mattress and was glad it didn’t shift, causing Red to wake.
Either she was dead asleep or was faking it.
But her breathing was slow and steady, her lips parted slightly, her fingers curled tightly around the sheet that had been tucked around her, most likely by Stella.
She was curled up on her side. Because she was so thin, when she was standing, from the front it was hard to see she was pregnant. From the side... there was no doubt. Her rounded stomach wasn’t huge, but it was noticeable.
She was definitely a few months along. Maybe more.
The most pregnant chick he ever fucked had gone into labor right after, which is one reason the girl kept begging him to fuck her. He hadn’t wanted to at first until, while she was sucking him off like a pro, she refused to let him finish in her mouth and insisted if he wanted to finish, he either needed to jerk himself off or fuck her.
So, he did the latter. Without a wrap, too, since there was no fear of knocking her up.
It was probably one of the best fucks he’d had before he’d turned eighteen. Her tits were huge and he’d taken her doggy style and came once, then she rode his dick and drained his nuts a second time.
He’d just been thankful for a free suck and fuck at the time, and also that it wasn’t his brat in the bitch’s belly. Or child support coming out of his wallet.
He pursed his lips as he studied the now clean and unknotted red hair spilled over one of his pillows. He reached out and captured a long, damp strand between his fingers, lifting it and sliding the silky length back and forth between his thumb and the pad of his index finger.
He’d never been into redheads. He never understood the appeal.
And she was a true redhead. It had been hard to miss when she was running naked. The contrast of her red hair and her ghost white skin had been startling.
Almost like fire and ice.
He released her hair and ran a knuckle over one hollowed cheek, noticing how dark those purple half-moons were under her dark red lashes.
Her lips were chapped and the bruises ruined the perfection of what should be ivory skin. He hadn’t noticed a freckle on her face earlier. Not one.
He matched his own fingers up to the bruises on her throat to compare the hand size. It was similar to his.
A man’s.
What did she do to deserve someone choking her like that? Squeezing hard enough to leave marks?
Sig sucked a breath in through his nose and held it, counting to five in his head before releasing it softly from between his lips. It was a technique Trip used to keep from flipping the fuck out.
After Trip told him about it, Sig tried it. It didn’t always work. It depended on what the issue was and how far gone he was.
Using a belt, a whip, or whatever the woman on the receiving end requested, always seemed to work the best.
But it wasn’t practical. And he needed to find a backup since he now lost Rebecca or his ass might end up right back in fucking jail.
That would make Trip furious. And Sig would lose the little he had in Manning Grove.
His goal was to get his half of what his grandfather left behind, what was owed to him, and he couldn’t do that if Trip cut him off from the MC, the repo business and the farm.
Right now he was sitting solid with a roof over his head, food in his gut, and a way to make some scratch. But that didn’t mean he’d stick around forever. He’d never stuck in one place for very long unless he was forced to because of razor wire and an inmate number.
He let his fingers trail over her shoulder, which was covered in one of Stella’s T-shirts, and down her bare arm to her clenched hand. He worked the sheet loose from her fist and gently smoothed out her fingers. Then he kept moving to the only place the woman was more than simply skin and bones...
