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He released her head, gave her knee a quick squeeze, straightened and turned back to his breakfast.
Jemma had to tell herself to breathe because in that instant she forgot how.
He bit into a slice of bacon and chewed, staring straight ahead.
What the fuck just happened?
She couldn’t remember getting this worked up over any man. In fact, the last time she had gotten this flustered was when she was fifteen and sixteen-year-old Bobby Miller had French kissed her, shoved his hand up her shirt and honked her boob behind the shed at the house.
Judd had found out—Jemma had no idea how—tracked Bobby down, punched him so hard the kid ended up knocked out cold. He also threatened Bobby that if he ever touched his sister again, Judd would slice his throat. Bobby had told Jemma that Judd actually pulled a real knife when he made that threat and did a slicing motion across his throat. Then Bobby told her never to speak to him again because she wasn’t worth dying for.
Well, the news of that incident ran rampant through her school and fucked up Jemma’s chances of dating all throughout high school. It wasn’t until she got a car and could drive herself to parties in surrounding towns, where no one knew Judd Scott was her brother, that she not only could get kissed, but finally lose her virginity.
Admittedly, it had sucked.
So had the second time.
And the third.
But eventually she found someone who knew kind of what he was doing so it wasn’t as bad. Out of desperation, Jemma bought her first vibrator at eighteen and discovered what an orgasm was. But that kind of backfired. Once she experienced a real orgasm, she was more disappointed in most of the guys she slept with since they had no clue how to help her achieve one.
But less than a minute prior, Cage’s touch, and then the anticipation of a possible kiss, had not only those butterflies pounding their monster-sized wings inside her belly, but had her pussy pulsing.
She pulled her gaze from his profile, since she was probably staring at him like a lunatic and dropped it to her plate.
Right now, she had no desire to eat the meal she’d prepared, but instead, she felt like grabbing a handful of his hair, dragging him to the floor, stripping him of those soft, worn jeans and riding his cock until those butterflies stopped beating up her insides and her pussy got what it was throbbing for.
Unfortunately, there were several problems with doing any of that.
One, she didn’t do casual.
Two, she didn’t do bikers.
And three, that would really fucking complicate things since they were temporarily living together in a small space.
Oh, and four—and it was a big one—Judge would club Cage again. Though, this time probably skipping the protection of the heavy blanket, which meant he would die and Dyna would become an orphan.
Cage might not be the perfect parent for her, but he was better than nothing.
“Gonna eat your bacon?”
That question brought her tumbling back to the here and now, and the reality of their situation.
She slid her plate next to his. He grabbed a slice of her bacon and shoved it into his mouth. While he chewed, he grumbled, “Got home late last night.”
Home.
That word alone was enough to rip the wings off those fucking butterflies.
Chapter Nine
Cage did his best to bring them both back to Earth. Because, Jesus Christ, the way her breathing had changed and how she had stared at him—like she was a cannibal and he was her next meal—just about made him drag her to the floor, yank up that damn T-shirt, pull off her panties and go balls deep inside her.
And if he did that, he might actually die the next time he saw Judge. He was pretty damn sure it would be a slow death, too.
The club’s sergeant at arms had convinced his sister to come home to help him. Sticking his dick in her was included in the you-better-treat-Jemma-with-respect-or-else threat Judge had given him before she’d showed up.
“I needed a drink.”
Huh? Oh yeah. Why she came home late last night. He was kind of pissed she did.
Not that he could say anything. She wasn’t chained to the trailer, to his daughter or even to him.
“Booze in The Barn.” She could walk the hundred yards to church and grab a beer or a shot without having to go to a bar, even if it was a club-owned one.
“I don’t belong to the club.”
She did. Whether she liked it or not.
She was born to an Original. She was the sister to the Fury’s enforcer, cousin to the treasurer. Fury blood ran thick through her veins. If anyone belonged to the club, she did.
He opened his mouth to argue that point, but knew he’d only be beating his head against a wall and he already had enough bruises to last a while. Instead, he asked, “You head to Crazy Pete’s?”
