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His head drew back at my words, and he walked over to me, lifting his hands to smooth my wayward hair. “Why the fuck wouldn’t anyone want to meet you?” he asked, kissing my forehead.
Although I was of the opinion that any kind of kiss from Swiss was absolute heaven, there was something about the forehead kiss that just… hit different, as Violet would say.
“Cody and Lucas have probably been gossiping like old ladies at a hair salon since the moment we left the room last night,” he continued, still holding onto me, his hands now at the back of my neck. “Singing your praises,” he clarified, as if he could sense the doubt and dread in my stomach.
Something in his expression changed, turning slightly uneasy. It was the first time I’d seen this man unsure of himself.
“On top of that,” he said slowly. “I have somewhat of a… reputation around the club.”
I looked at him more closely, as if I’d find an explanation. “A reputation?” I repeated, thinking the worst. Was he some kind of polygamist? Did he have four wives somewhere?
He nodded, watching me carefully. “I like to fuck,” he shrugged. “Rough. I like kink.”
Despite the situation, my stomach swirled, not unpleasantly, thinking of the rough kink that I had experienced with Swiss.
“That is not a secret,” he continued.
I looked down at my nails, thinking about the tight living quarters and the way people were going at it at the party. It made sense... Sex should not be a secret, taboo, shameful thing. That’s what I’d tried to teach Violet, at least.
Swiss’s thumb went to the middle of my brow where I’d pinched my brows together in thought. He smoothed the wrinkle away.
“It also isn’t a secret that I don’t fuck the same bitch twice,” he said quietly. “It’s something I take very fuckin’ seriously. And when we continue this, when we get deeper with each other, I’ll tell you why. Needless to say, you bein’ here with me, more than once, that means something.”
Suddenly, it was more difficult to suck in a full breath of air.
Everything that had come out in the last… five minutes? Ten? Was more than a woman like me could handle.
Was it really only a month ago that I had a husband telling me how worthless I was because I forgot that we had a dinner with his golf buddies? How stupid I was because I didn’t know the answer to some obscure question at trivia night?
I was not used to a man being open and free with affection, with purpose.
“When we get deeper with one another.”
He said when. Like it was a forgone conclusion. Like he’d already decided I was worth it.
Although it was nice to hear, beyond nice, I felt uneasy. I didn’t trust it. I was tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Swiss was still watching me intently as I realized I had not spoken yet, and I probably had a look of shock and awe on my face. But I still didn’t speak because I had no idea what to say and really hoped he was going to explain more.
He took a breath. “As much as I would like to keep us between us, that’s not how it works here,” he said. “We’re a family. A fucked-up one to be sure, but a family. I’d like to say it’s all on the Old Ladies, but some of the patched brothers are worse than fuckin’ women.”
He held his hand up in mock surrender. “Not that I’m making a generalization about your sex or implying there is anything wrong with being a woman. Men should be more like women. We’re scumbags, all of us.”
Despite the barrage of emotions running through me in that moment, I couldn’t help but smile.
He shrugged on his cut. I wondered if he wore it every day. I liked him in it. Despite what I’d been conditioned into thinking it symbolized—criminals, violence, drugs, lawlessness.
I didn’t know a whole bunch about the Sons of Templar or what they stood for, and I could’ve been completely wrong, but I got the feeling there was a whole lot more to his club than met the eye.
I already saw there was a whole lot more to this man than met the eye.
A gaggle of female laughter came from beyond the door, and it jerked me into action. I realized that there was a whole bunch of people out there, waiting to meet me. The woman Swiss was serious about.
Swiss. The sex god.
And I was wearing day old clothes that smelled of coffee, had on not a lick of makeup, and my hair was still wet from the shower.
“I can’t meet your family like this,” I exclaimed as I stared at myself in the mirror.
