AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Still laughing, Zach hooked his hand over her nape and pulled her close. “Easy, babe. Don’t worry about these old assholes. We’ll get girls to clean for us, and it won’t be you unless you want it to be.”
“I don’t.”
“Understood.”
“Yeah, I heard you pay your club chicks,” Ben said, unaffected by being called an old asshole. “That true?”
“Not really,” Gargoyle answered. “In Tulsa, we pay a girl to be in charge of the girls. The rest of ‘em get what sweetbutts get—protection and dick.”
Zach watched Lyra’s face as she processed that information, and he saw she was going to want to talk about the sweetbutt situation soon. Probably the first moment they were alone. It appeared that Ben hadn’t prepared his daughter for the realities of an MC life.
He wasn’t worried, but he did wonder: how would he prepare her for that life? And was that what he wanted? Was he already thinking about a life with her?
Did that mean he’d decided where he meant to stay?
Okay, he had a lot of questions. Maybe he was a little worried, after all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lyra sat on Zach’slap, wrapped up in his strong arms, and felt distinctly uncomfortable. It was more than the mess of this house—though, yeah, come on. One single day and it already looked like a frat boy graveyard? Gross. The melty guy had been less gross than this.
Okay, not remotely less gross, but significantly less irritating.
She was used to taking care of and cleaning up after men, but Reed and Pop both tried not to be complete slobs. They respected her more than that. Pop wouldn’t do dishes, but he rinsed his out, at least. He threw his trash out and hit the hamper with his dirty clothes.
This wasn’t her mess or her responsibility, but apparently she was extremely well trained, because all her cleaning impulses were activated, and she was actually a little pissed at Zach. Like, pissed on spec. Would he expect her to be chief cook and washerwoman, too?
No. No. He’d told her more than once, including right here and now, that he did not. Calm down, Lyra.
But ... okay, so she wasn’t going to have to clean up after these pigs in biker clothes, but what was a ‘sweetbutt’? Pop had called them club chicks, and she knew enough, from his stories and wherever else, to understand that bikers had groupies. Butsweetbutts? Seriously? There were women who were okay with that?
What had Gargoyle said? They got ‘protection and dick.’
As that notion swirled around in her head, picking up detail and color, she turned from all the other bikers in the room and studied the one she was sitting on. How many women had he been with?
She hadn’t figured he was a choirboy or anything, obviously. But her father’s stories about the MC life—fond reminiscences that had always struck her like diet-version war stories—had maybe not fully prepared her for the reality. Pop himself, his personality and attitude, his values, his crusty emotional reserve, had maybe prepared her better. But it was just now occurring to her that an MC was a way of life. Not a job, not a club, alife. A community and culture.
And it was full of women who needed protection and wanted biker dick.
Feeling her eyes on him, Zach looked into them and cocked his head. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She blinked away all those weird, discomfiting thoughts and slipped her fingers through the hair at his nape.
He took a sensual breath, and his eyes closed. He liked being touched there. In fact, her seat was taking on a new lump. Focusing herself on much happier notions, she wiggled her butt a little until his fingers clamped over her hip.
