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Now that Pop’s gone… it means everything.
My place is with the Steel Kings. My place is beside Mason Cutler.
He presses his lips to my damp forehead. “Rest up. That was round one.”
I laugh. “Shut up, Mace! That was… too much.You’retoo much!”
“Me?” He pins me to the pillows and grinds himself against me. Somehow, his flaccid dick is already hardening. “How about you look in the mirror, Syd? You’re too damn much. Every fucking moment. And don’t tell me you don’t know what you’re doing in those denim cutoffs and summer dresses of yours.”
My cheeks warm. “They’re cute and flattering.”
“They get the job done. That’s all I’ll say.”
I slap a hand to his chest and peer up into his eyes. “What do you see long-term?”
“Hmmm?”
“Long term, Mason Cutler,” I say in a lecturing tone. “If you mean it—if I’m really yours—you need to tell me what that means.”
“Syd, what do you want it to mean? All I know is it better mean you’re here in my fucking bed. You’re my fucking old lady,” he explains, kissing my mouth. “But you’ve gotta want to stay. You’ve gotta want to be here in the club. And I know you—you need a purpose. Something to do. Velma was manager at the Chop Shop. What doyouwant?”
What do I want?
The question spins around in my head as I take it into consideration.
Mason’s correct when he guesses I’ll need something to do. Some sense of purpose. I’m not sure that’s in being a barmaid, but it’s also definitely not in filling Velma’s shoes as the manager at the Chop Shop.
I rack my brain and then come up with what seems obvious.
“How about club relations?”
He raises a brow. “Club relations?”
“I put together the fundraiser, didn’t I? I made you thousands in profit,” I explain. “I like doing things like that. Maybe I can help with the town’s perception of the club.”
He thinks for a second and then grins. “That sounds right up your alley, Syd.”
Before I can reply, he’s already claiming me by my lips. He’s pressing his to mine and letting his rough hands squeeze my supple curves.
We’re lost in each other within seconds. Another round as Mason predicted.
I don’t regret a thing. I’m right where I want to be, in the passionate arms of the man I’ve developed real, undeniable feelings for.
Life doesn’t get much better than this—orgasms at the hands of a man who practically worships you.
37
MASON
The Hellrazors request a meeting.
Dirty Harry arrives with the handful of men he has left, looking fucking pitiful in their bandages and bruises.
I watch from behind my desk in the back office as they approach, surrounded by a wall of armed Kings. Nothing is given away in my expression. No thought, no emotion either way. Just hard, chiseled indifference as they stop before me and plead their case.
“It wasn’t us who fucked you over,” Dirty says. “It was the Reapers. It was all a misunderstanding.”
I clasp my hands together. “You were happy to let us think it was you.”
