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Taking my key out, I unlock the door and push it open. Together, we make our way into the apartment, and I watch as he places the cupcakes on the kitchen counter. “You go ahead and pack your shit.”
Instead of verbally answering him, I nod my head and hurry off to the bedroom to pack my overnight duffel bag with a couple changes of clothes, something to wear to a party since I assume something will be happening tonight down there, and then my toiletries.
KING
Once Shawn has packed her small bag, we load up onto my bike, which is not really made to carry boxes of cupcakes and an overnight bag, and we head straight for the clubhouse. I’ve got a few things to take care of, and I want to make sure she’s safe and sound, maybe even tucked into my bed.
After I park the bike, I help her off and place my hand at the small of her back as we move toward the door. It’s a possessive move, but that’s who the fuck I am, and she’s mine now. I need every cock in that clubhouse to understand that.
There are quite a few bikes parked here, which isn’t unusual, but it’s a bit early for everyone to trickle in. Which means that they probably have all their deliveries done for the day. All except the ones I’m going to do later. Which include some personal deliveries. Very fucking personal ones.
“Cupcake girl, please, God, tell me that there are more treats in those fucking boxes,” a man cries out as soon as we walk into the dark bar.
Fucking Clink. All he’s done is talk about Shawn’s cupcakes since the party. I know it’s him before I even look up. I watch as he stands from his seat and makes his way over to us, his eyes focused on the boxes in my hands.
“There are a few cupcakes. I didn’t want to leave them at the bakery,” Shawn says on a laugh.
Clink doesn’t even ask. He doesn’t say a single fucking word as he reaches for the boxes, takes them from me, then turns and walks back toward a pub table. Before I can even blink, that table is surrounded by men, and they are all reaching into the boxes.
Turning my head, I dip my chin to look down at Shawn, who is staring at the entire encounter, her eyes wide and her lips parted in what I can only describe as awe. “I think they like your baking,” I point out.
Slowly, she turns her head, tipping it back as she looks up at me, her eyes still wide as they connect with mine. Then her lips curve up into a grin. “I think that maybe they do.”
Shaking my head, I turn my body to face her, keeping my hand at the small of her back as I apply more pressure so that her body is pressed against mine. “You had doubts?” I ask.
“If your bakery was failing because you couldn’t get any sales, wouldn’t you have doubts?” she asks.
I see her point, but she should never doubt her cupcakes. Those fuckers are bomb as fuck. I hum, lifting my free hand to cup her cheek. I like touching her this way. I love feeling every inch of her beneath her clothes, but I like touching her like this, too.
“You shouldn’t have a single fucking doubt, sweetness. You’re fucking amazing.”
Without another word, I release her face and turn toward the bar, still keeping my hand on the small of her back. “Let’s get you set up in my room.”
She takes a single step, then stops. Looking over my shoulder at her, I arch a brow and watch her for a moment. Confused as to why she hasn’t moved. She presses her lips together, her gaze flicking to the hallway that leads to the room before coming back to meet mine.
“What?” I ask.
“Your room is disgusting,” she whispers.
“What?” I ask again, trying to hide my laughter.
“Your room was a disaster. I’m afraid of what I could find in there.”
I shake my head, laughing as I continue walking forward, not confirming or denying that I’ve cleaned or haven’t cleaned my room. I haven’t. I’ve never had to be organized when it comes to my space. The clubwhores sometimes clean for us, but I haven’t had one in my room in a while.
Once we make it to the room, I push the door open and gently thrust her forward into the space. She lets out a heavy sigh, then drops her bag to the floor as I close and lock the door behind me.
She spins around, her eyes finding mine, her lips pressed tightly together. “It’s not clean. I’m not sleeping here.”
“Yeah, you are.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I’m not.”
It’s cute that she thinks she can tell me what she will and won’t be doing. I understand that she doesn’t realize what she’s agreed to by accepting me into her body, by allowing me to mark her, by climbing onto the back of my bike, but she doesn’t have a fucking say about shit, and the sooner she realizes her place, the better it will be for both of us.
“You’re looking at me like you don’t give a shit what I think.”
Humming, I cross my arms over my chest and dip my chin so that I can look directly into her gaze. “I give a shit what you think, but a clean room isn’t important to me. I got a place to fuck you. That’s all I give a shit about.”
