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Jethro’s eyes turned wild. Frenzied. Like a fucking madman—something I recognised and related to. “I don’t fucking believe you!”
Without waiting for a response, he pummelled Shark’s face until it was a bloody pulp. Two other members had to move into place to hold Shark up as Jethro unleashed his fury. Almost unconscious, the only sounds coming from him were grunts of pain and cries that turned to whimpers and pleas for mercy.
Jethro scowled at him in disgust. “Have some fucking self-respect and stop your fucking crying.” He grabbed Shark’s chin and pulled his face up. “It’s time to settle in. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
I’d been told what happens when a member is disloyal to the club, but this was the first time I’d witnessed it. It was also my first week as a prospect, and I knew I’d never make the same mistake as Shark. Fuck, I knew that before witnessing his death. I may have only been a prospect for a short time, but I’d been a hangaround for a while, and I knew I’d live and breathe for this club. I’d fucking live and breathe for anyone who was as loyal to me as I was to them.
“How was your day?” Ivy asked when I joined her in the kitchen of our tiny home later that night.
She stood at the sink, back to me, washing dishes, and my gaze dropped to her ass. Five years of that ass being mine, and I still couldn’t get enough of it or of her. Getting engaged to her two years ago was one of the smartest things I’d ever done. The sooner I had a wedding ring on her finger, the better.
Keeping my eye trained on the short denim skirt she wore, I grabbed the tub of ice cream I’d picked up on my way home and a spoon from the rack where she was placing clean dishes to dry. I popped the lid and moved to where she stood, pressing myself to her back. Ivy had a thing for short skirts and loose tank tops that gave me perfect access to all my favourite places. Today she wore both, and my gaze dropped to her chest. She had on the pink lacy bra I loved, and my dick hardened while I thought about ripping it off her soon.
As I manoeuvred my arms around her, ice cream in one hand, spoon in the other, I answered her question. “Long.” And fucking satisfying. “Here,” I said as I brought a spoon of ice cream to her mouth. “It’s your favourite.” Ivy had an obsession with banana ice cream from Baskin Robbins, and I tried to feed it to her as often as I could. It made her happy, and I fucking loved seeing her happy.
“Mmm,” she murmured after her first spoonful.
She stopped washing dishes as I continued feeding her. Hands still in the sink, she rested her head against my chest and gazed up at me.
After her fourth spoonful, she said, “It’s been exactly three days since I’ve had ice cream.”
“I know,” I said around a smile as I scooped more from the tub for her. “Too long to go without something you love.”
I bent my face to her hair. Fuck, she smelt good. I dropped a kiss there before lifting my head and sliding the spoon into her mouth again.
It was moments like these with her that I lived for. Ivy’s moods shifted so fast some days that I couldn’t keep up. Add to that my moods, and we spent a lot of fucking time arguing over stupid shit. As much as we tried, we were both too damn stubborn and unable to control our tempers to stop the unnecessary arguments.
Placing the tub and spoon on the counter, I slipped my hand down the front of her skirt and dipped my head again so I could kiss the bare skin on her shoulder. Not only had it been three days since she’d had ice cream, it had also been that long since she’d had my cock. Not by my fucking choice, though. If I had my way, I’d be inside her morning and night. And in-between if I could swing it, too.
“King,” she grumbled, pulling my hands from her skirt, “I’ve got all these dishes to wash and then I’ve got study to do.”
I glanced at the huge pile of baking dishes she referred to. “Why the fuck are there so many dirty dishes?” I’d known Ivy for eleven years and lived with her for four; she didn’t love baking.
She turned in my arms, placing her hands on my chest. Bubbles from the sink soaked into my shirt and some floated in the air between us. But I wasn’t looking at those bubbles; my gaze was focused entirely on the happiness radiating from my woman.
Smiling, she caught me up. “Our mothers spent the day with me. The girls, too. We made shortbread, white Christmas, rum balls, Christmas pudding, and a gingerbread house. You should have seen Skylar. I don’t think I’ve seen her as excited for something as she was for that gingerbread house. Even Nik was happy to spend the whole day with us.” My sister, Annika, had just turned seventeen and tried to spend as much time as she could with her dickhead boyfriend. She argued a lot with me and our foster mum, so it surprised me she’d stayed all day. Skylar, on the other hand, was only seven and desperately craved family time and attention, so I could imagine her eating up every minute of the day with everyone.
Time slowed while I captured everything good about this moment. From the first day I met her, Ivy had drowned out some of the bad in my world. I was eleven, she was ten, and she’d looked at me like she knew what wounds were etched into my soul. All I’d said to her was “Don’t touch my shit, and I won’t touch yours. And anytime you want to whinge about your life, I’m not interested. I already know that life sucks.” That had been the day my foster mother’s sister, Ivy’s new foster mother, brought her over to our house and introduced everyone. She’d listened to what I said before replying, “Deal. And if you touch me, I’ll kick you so hard in the balls they’ll fall off.” The way she’d said it was as if she truly believed that would happen, and for one brief moment, she’d flooded my mind with bright light, dulling the darkness in there.
I gripped her waist and lifted her onto the kitchen counter next to the sink. A second later, my hands slid up her thighs and under her skirt, and before she managed to protest, I had a thumb on her clit and my lips to hers.
Pulling one of her legs around my waist, I groaned into her mouth, “Fuck, I will never get enough of you.”
She kissed me back, but her usual enthusiasm was missing. When the kiss ended, she said, “I don’t have time for this, King. I told you that.”
I rubbed her clit and slid a finger inside her. “You’re wet for me so I’d say you should make the time for this.”
Her lips flattened in the way that told me we were in for a fucker of an argument if I continued to push the point. Smacking her hands against my chest, she threw out, “Everything always revolves around what you want. What about what I want? Does that ever matter to you?”
Fuck, something had her worked up. Letting her go, I took a step back. “What’s going on here, Ivy? What’s pissed you off today?”
Her eyes widened. “Today? You make me sound like I’m a bitch who is always pissed off.”
I raked my fingers through my hair, not wanting to get into this with her. Not tonight. Not after the events of the day that had me wired for blood. I’d come home hoping that some time with her would trip that switch.
“I’m not doing this with you tonight.” I turned to leave the kitchen. To put some space between us.
I’d only made it two steps out of the room when she wrapped her hand around my bicep and yelled, “Don’t you walk away from me! I want to know what you meant!”
