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So he got his kicks with some consensual fun with women who enjoyed that sort of thing.
I guess I understood that.
It was an outlet for both parties.
"We all have our things," I said, because it seemed the most appropriate thing to say.
"That's true. I like watching a woman eat," he admitted, smirking.
"Well, should I call Drex over to beat your ass then?" I asked.
To that, I got a chuckle out of Bat.
"You need anything else?"
"Yeah, another of these," Drex said, appearing out of nowhere with the iron bottle in his hand. "What?" he barked at Bat who had a brow raised.
"Just never pegged you as the nursemaid type," he said, shrugging as he got up off the chair. "Guess maybe the right woman makes all the difference. Baby girl, you got any sisters? Preferably with a good forty or fifty more pounds of cushioning?" he asked.
"I don't."
"Shame," he said, clucking his tongue as he moved away.
"He's nice."
"Once saw him nearly beat a rival to death with a crowbar, but, yeah, he's nice enough," Drex agreed as he grabbed Bat's chair and moved it closer to my side. "How's the pain?"
"I'm okay so far," I told him. He'd slipped me an in-between pill before I ate to see if we could avoid the sudden pain flare-up between big doses.
"Good. You as beat as I am?" he asked.
He looked rough, and I realized that while I'd been able to catch some sleep thanks to the huge cocktail of drugs that first night, he'd been off fishing for information and getting supplies for our trip.
"As soon as I finish I will be ready for some sleep," I told him, motioning to my mostly bare plate. I had a few bites left. And even though I felt like my stomach was about to burst, I wanted to force them down. "You can head down. I'll meet you in a few."
"No."
"Everyone has been nice enough," I insisted.
"No," he said again, shaking his head.
"Are you always so bossy?"
"Pretty much," he told me, giving me a weak smirk.
"Okay," I said, slipping the last few bites of steak and the little bit of potatoes into my mouth before standing, and reaching for my plate.
"Leave it."
"What? No," I objected over my mouth full.
"See those kids over there holding up the wall?" he asked, waving toward a group of what looked like late teen or early-twenties guys.
"Yeah?"
"They're prospects. Their job is to do the dirty work around here. Like the clean up and dishes. Bat would be insulted if you did it, and pissed at them for not moving in to take the plate sooner."
"Oh," I said as Drex put his hand to my lower back, then started to lead me back toward the basement. "What is a prospect?" I asked.
"Guys who want to be a part of the club. They have to prove they want it bad enough first. So, the patched members fuck with them."
"Like hazing."
"Something like that. Got a side preference?" he asked, waving toward the bed.
"This is fine," I told him, moving toward the far side as he ducked under the bed, grabbing the backpack, then tucking it under the pillow on his side.
"Easy access," he explained. "For when we need it," he added.
"Good plan," I agreed, grabbing the thin sheets and pulling them up while trying hard not to consider the cleanliness habits of outlaw bikers. Did they ever wash their sheets? Oh, well. It would have to do. So I climbed in and tried to sleep.
"You shivering?" Drex asked what felt like a lifetime later as I stayed curled up in a ball under the sheet.
It was a basement. They were always around sixty degrees. And maybe that was comfortable for some people. But I was always freezing, always needing more layers and extra blankets. Not to mention socks.
"I'm always cold," I told him, rubbing my hands up and down my arms like I could chafe some warmth back into them.
"Come over here," he demanded, releasing his arm from behind his head to slip under my neck, curling me closer, then up onto his chest. "I'm warm, remember?" he asked.
He wasn't just warm.
He was hot.
The comfortable kind of hot.
Like a steamy shower after being out in the cold.
"Easy with that," he murmured when an appreciative moan escaped me.
"I can't help it. I feel like I'm thawing out," I told him, sneaking my frozen toes up under the leg of his jeans.
"Fuck," he grumbled. Then, "Stop wiggling."
"Sorry," I told him. Only, I wasn't sorry at all. I was desperate for more warmth.
"Nova," he growled as my hand snaked up the front of his shirt, pressing against his warm, toned stomach.
"They'll stop being so cold in a minute," I promised him as my other hand pressed against the skin on his side.
"Not complaining about the cold," he admitted, making a little thrill move through my belly.
