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Now she knew better and she’d swear on a thousand bibles love was real and she felt it for Viper.
Yet she hesitated to voice it out loud. After the events of the past week and a half, the devastation of not having the words returned would crush her. Plus, could she trust her feelings at this point? Maybe she’d clung to him because he’d saved her. Maybe she felt she owed him something. Maybe she’d mistaken hero-worship, gratitude, and a healthy dose of lust for love. Now wasn’t the time for life-altering declarations of love. Not while every other part of her life was in transition.
“Cassie,” Viper said, voice wavering and full of what she’d guess was uncertainty. “Shit, that was…uh…”
Hope flared in her that maybe he was struggling with the same overwhelming emotions. Maybe he felt the same craziness she did. Or maybe he pitied her. The poor virgin girl kidnapped by his father. Most likely, he was strictly referencing the spectacular sex and out-of-this-world orgasm.
“I know,” she whispered. Then she forced herself to smirk and wink. “I’m pretty sure the top layer of paint came off the dresser and permanently stained my skin.”
“Oh, shit,” Viper said with a chuckle as he stepped back. The relief she felt at no longer having the ridge of the dresser digging into her hips warred with her loss when his spent cock slipped from her body.
Before she had a chance to see if her legs would hold her, Viper scooped her up and deposited her on the bed. He curled himself around her, those large muscles making her feel safe in a way she’d come to depend on in the past few days.
Now that the monster orgasm had faded, she wanted nothing more than to sleep the day away, but when Viper whispered, “We’ve got to get a place to ourselves so we can do this whenever we want,” a renewed flare of arousal pulsed.
She stomped on the small voice in her head telling her it was too soon.
You barely know him.
He pities the poor little rich girl with no family, friends, or job prospects.
His feelings aren’t real.
He feels responsible for you because he rescued you.
You’re mistaking your feelings for gratitude.
It will never last.
As she fought to keep the negative worries at bay, she allowed the feelings of post-orgasmic bliss to guide her words. “That sounds perfect.”
“Mm-hmm,” came the sleepy reply. “All day, every day. Fucking perfect.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1982 -TENNESSEE
Exactly one month to the day they’d left Washington, Viper found himself tasked with his first shittastic prospect chore.
He had to wash every single bike in the lot of the clubhouse while the patched brothers attended church. And since church was mandatory, everyone was in house, and he had twenty-seven bikes to wash.
Granted, he did have help. Sarge, who was running late, was the reason for this little punishment task, and needed to get his ass there to do his share. It’d been no surprise to anyone when Sarge flipped his shit over Cutter wanting to keep specific details of their next gun shipment secret from prospect ears.
Who the hell knew why this surprised Sarge? After an entire year spent prospecting with the Tribe, he knew how shit worked. Sarge just couldn’t swallow the bitter pill of prospecting a second time around. So, he’d mouthed off within earshot of Cutter—again—and earned them this lovely job.
And now, he was late.
Fucking Sarge. The guy’s mouth was gonna get him kicked the fuck outta the club before they ever had the chance to patch in at this rate.
With a half sigh, half growl, Viper shoved the sponge into a sudsy bucket. Might as well get this the fuck over with. If he finished in time, he could join Cassie as she painted the walls of their shoebox apartment.
Leaving her alone for any amount of time caused the back of his neck to itch. They hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the Devil’s Tribe in the few weeks they’d been in Tennessee, but Viper still felt the weight of their eyes on him everywhere he went. Maybe someday, he’d feel comfortable in his skin without looking over his shoulder, but today was not that day. Not nearly enough time had passed to feel safe.
And fuck, he worried more about Cassie than he did himself, no matter how many times and in how many ways she tried to get him to relax.
Though, man, did he love her relaxation techniques.
Despite her constant reassurances, he had a feeling she was even more freaked out than he was, she just hid it better.
As he began to scrub the front hubcap on the first bike, the deafening roar of another motorcycle cruised into the parking lot.
Sarge.
Fucking finally.
“Nice of you to show, brother,” he called out after Sarge shut off the engine.
His brother hopped off the bike, tossed his helmet to the ground, and practically ran to Viper with a giant fucking grin on his face.
