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“So, you can’t even talk to them—it’s an all or nothing deal?” Viv asked.
“Yes and no,” Cillian said. “I can’t be seen in church or with any of the guys who’ve served time.”
“Church?” she asked.
“It’s what we call our meeting place—biker’s church.” Cillian’s smile was sad and Viv wished there was something more she could do to help him out.
“Why not just hang out with the ones who haven’t been to prison?” she questioned.
Cillian barked out his laugh, “Honey— we are a club of one-percenters and military misfits,” he said as if she would know exactly what he meant.
“I have no clue what that means, Cillian.”
“It means that most of the guys in my club are felons and have done some time on the inside. There is one guy—Savage, he’s our leader. He’s never been to prison so he’s on my approved list of people I can see. He’s the one who met me the day I got out and took me back to stay with his family. When I told him I needed to be on my own, he was the one who found me that shitty motel to rent. He was trying to help me find a job but he’s got a lot going on himself. He’s one of my best friends and more than that—he’s my brother.”
“Well, this Savage guy sounds pretty awesome,” she said. “To help you out like that. I’d like to meet him sometime.”
Cillian shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “He and his husband and wife don’t live far from here. Maybe we could all get together sometime. But, for now—” Cillian rolled her on top of his body, causing her to squeal. “How about we find some other way to distract ourselves?” Cillian swatted her ass and she smiled down at him.
“I like the way you think,” she teased, grinding her pussy against his already erect cock. “You’re ready again?” she questioned.
“I have a lot of time to make up for, Honey. You up for that?” Viv pretended to consider his request and he swatted her ass again, this time making her yelp.
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Good,” he grunted and pulled her down to kiss him. It was going to be a hell of a lot of fun helping Cillian to make up for lost time.
_______
Viv spent the night tangled up with Cillian’s demanding needs and by the time the sun had come up, she had barely slept a wink. She carefully extracted herself from Cillian’s big body and pulled on his t-shirt. She padded down to the kitchen to find last night’s dinner dishes still piled in the sink. She started the coffee pot and pulled on her dish gloves, refilling the sink with hot, soapy water. Someone pounded on her front door, scaring the life out of her. She dropped one of her dinner plates into the sink and it broke.
“Just fucking perfect,” she complained. She took off her rubber gloves and walked down the hallway to the front door, grumbling to herself the whole way. She didn’t bother to check out the peephole and threw open the door to find a man standing on the other side.
He began to speak and she held up her hand, effectively stopping him. “Listen, I haven’t even had my coffee this morning, I’ve had a very long night and your pounding on my door at the butt crack of dawn caused me to break one of my favorite plates. So, this better be good,” she growled.
The well-dressed man opened his mouth to speak again and Viv once again stopped him. “And, before you tell me you’re here to sell me something, help me find Jesus or that I’ve won some sweepstakes I haven’t entered, let me remind you that I haven’t had my coffee yet and most days, it’s the only thing that keeps me from killing people. Especially people who show up on my doorstep unannounced and pound on my door before seven in the morning. Now—” she said, taking a deep breath. “What can I do for you?”
He hesitated as if he wasn’t quite sure she was going to let him speak at all and she wildly waved her hands in the air as if silently telling him to get on with it. “I’m looking for Cillian James. He also goes by Kill,” he said. “I was told he works for your diner, Miss Ward, and I’m hoping you can tell me where I can reach him. His last place of residence called to tell me that he checked out last night and I’m worried he’s in violation of his parole.”
Now it was Viv’s turn not to talk. She worried that she had just opened her front door and invited in trouble for the man who had spent most of the night making her his. The same man who was asleep in her bed.
“And you are?” she asked.
He held out his hand, “Jackson Hart,” he offered as if that would explain everything. “But, everyone calls me Hart. I’m Cillian’s parole officer.”
“Oh,” she breathed. Viv noticed the way he looked her up and down and suddenly realized she was wearing nothing but Cillian’s Harley shirt.
“Hey babe,” Cillian said, bouncing down her stairs in just his boxer briefs. “What’s all the commotion?” He stopped dead when he found his parole officer at her front door.
“Hart,” Cillian said. “Why the hell are you here?” he asked. Cillian looked Viv up and down. “Where the feck are your clothes, Viv?” he growled. Cillian moved to stand between her and his grumpy looking parole officer as if the damage hadn’t already been done.
“He’s already seen me,” she said.
“Well, he’s finished looking,” Cillian growled. “You haven’t said why you are here. I’m not supposed to check in for three more days.”
“You checked out of your motel and they called to let me know,” Hart said. “It’s protocol.”
“Bullshit,” Cillian growled. “You’re keeping tabs on me but you will find that I’ve done nothing wrong—so check away. I left my shit hole motel because I found a job and another place to stay. If you need me, I’ll be right here.”
