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War waits until my breathing has returned to normal and gently pulls out, taking care to wrap his arms around me to keep me steady on my feet. He moves us under the water to rinse us both clean, shuts off the water and wraps a soft fluffy towel around me. I am lifted in his arms and deposited on the bed. I notice that he doesn’t even bother covering himself. He is dripping water on the floor and looks delicious.
“Kitten, get that look off your face. I have already kept my brothers waiting. I need to go out and help them,” he says as he towels off and begins getting dressed.
I come out of my stupor. “I’ll get dressed and bring you all coffee and fresh muffins.”
“I don’t want you going into town alone,” he says.
I raise a hand to stop him. “Don’t worry. I plan to bake them from scratch.” I smile up at him.
“Thank you, Baby. I’m sure that the guys will appreciate your efforts. I’ll show you how much I appreciate your efforts later,” he says with a wink.
He bends forward and places his hands on either side of my waist, kissing my lips. Then he turns and walks out the door. I could wake up like this every morning.
I head out onto the deck an hour later with round two of coffee and two dozen homemade muffins. I ask War to bring out the long table, drape a white table cloth over top and set it up buffet style with a carafe I found among my boxes in the spare room. I add raspberry and strawberry jams, butter, napkins and cutlery. I decided to make two different batches of muffins—chocolate chip and blueberry; War mentioned that his favourite was chocolate chip and I figured the blueberry would go over well. I add a platter of fresh fruit for a touch of healthy.
“Honey, come get them while they are still warm,” I call out to War.
“I’ve been inhaling the delicious smell of muffins baking for the last half hour. I’m first,” Cris runs up the steps to the table and I giggle. I take two chocolate chip muffins, cut them in half and dollop a teaspoon of raspberry jam on each side, something I saw once on the cooking channel. The raspberry and chocolate make an awesome combination.
The guys are already indulging in their breakfast when War makes his way to me. I hold out his plate to him. “Where’s yours, Baby?” his smooth voice rumbles against my hair as he placed a light kiss on the top of my head.
“I’ll get one after you’re all done,” I say. “I like to see you guys enjoying it.”
“There won’t be any left the way these guys are inhaling them,” War replies. He isn’t wrong. I glanced over at the platters and they’re almost empty. Oh well, I can have toast.
“I’ll have to make a big batch of chili for lunch,” I say as I looked across the table to see Cris and Risk arguing over the last chocolate chip muffin. I can’t help but laugh.
War chuckles too. “I guess I lucked out when my girl decided that I was worth two muffins.” He takes another bite, moaning with pleasure. “Baby, these are really good.” He leans down and brushes his lips against me in a light, deliciously chocolate kiss. “Thank you, Kitten.” Simple words but his eyes say it all. He is happy. Happy to be together and happy to be surrounded by brothers who care.
I spend most of my day happily working in the kitchen. I fill the dishwasher with breakfast dishes, wipe counters, start a huge pot of chili and leave it to simmer. I make our bed, do a load of laundry, all very mundane stuff and yet I can’t stop smiling through it all. Every time I look out the window, I notice how hard all the guys are working to make my studio. My heart grows more and more full. They barely know me and here they are building my sanctuary. The plans that Risk drew up are amazing. He truly thought of everything.
I can’t wait to share my new family with Paul. I miss him but true to his word, he calls me every night and tells me all about their gigs and what’s going on with the band. I tell him that I’m writing again and have some great tunes floating through my mind. Paul is thrilled that I am so happy and safe. War says that he can stay with us for a while when he gets back, so we can spend time reconnecting.
The day goes by fairly quickly. The men stop for lunch and I make fresh corn bread to go along with the chili. They wolf it down quickly then proceed to devour my coconut raspberry squares. They are the one recipe my mom made that I absolutely loved. We may not be close, but she still makes them for me when I go home at Christmas to visit. She doesn’t make a big deal of it but always makes sure that I get two on my plate. It’s a good thing that we have a fully stocked pantry and freezer so that I can rediscover my love of cooking and baking. In the past, I’ve rarely taken the time since the band is constantly eating, spending most of our time in a studio or on the road.
The soft warm wind blows through the trees. I can hear the rippling of the water in the creek. The birds are singing to us, happy, joyful chirping from the trees. War and I are sitting side by side, his hand quietly caressing mine. His other hand holds a beer bottle, while mine holds a glass of red wine. It’s in this moment that I realize I have all I ever dreamed of. I’m in the presence of sheer beauty. This place, his friends, my new girlfriends, the studio they’re working so hard to build, the scenery, and yet the only thing that truly means anything to me is the touch of War’s hand engulfing my smaller one, squeezing it tight to get my attention. I looked into those mesmerizing eyes and am filled with wonder and awe.
I’ve had people chanting my name at concerts, enough money that I’ll be able to retire comfortably when I choose, a brother who would die for me and has made supreme sacrifices to ensure I have all I need, and I know that I am blessed. With all that has happened, the good and the bad, I wouldn’t change a thing if at the end, I can moments like this, with the man I love by my side, smiling that crooked smile beneath sparking eyes, here in our oasis.
Sixteen
Play It Again
War
This last week had been a flurry of activity. The studio is almost complete. The structure is erected and solid. Risk has hand-picked each person that has come onto my property, doing background checks and ensuing Maddie’s safety. We are starting the final stage; the electronic boards and equipment will be arriving tomorrow. The crew cut out early today to get ready for the Friday night party at the club house. We work hard, and we play hard. It's part of the life I chose when I became part of Satan's Pride. I was so young that all the partying seemed like the perfect life. What more can a 20-year-old want? I had booze, women, and my Pride brothers. I couldn't imagine wanting more than that. Now I stand in the doorway to living room and see Maddie strumming her guitar, fingers concentrating on the strings, brow furrowed like she’s searching for the next perfect notes to play. Her hair is thrown over one shoulder exposing her creamy, silky neck, marked with my love bites.
The sight of her marked like that makes me hard all over again. I’m tempted to throw her over my shoulder and take her back to bed. I can't get enough of her. Every kiss, lick, touch is making me more and more addicted. I feel the phone buzz in my pocket before it starts to ring.
I walked away from the door to the front porch and answered. "Hey."
"Yo, brother, I got an update.” Orion's deep voice penetrates through the phone.
"Right,” I respond.
"Brace, brother. I found a connection and this asshole is preparing. Before I go on, is Maddie with you?" Orion asks.
"In the other room,” I reply. "She fully engaged with her guitar. It would take a cannon to break that concentration." I smile because I know I could call her name over and over and the only time she’d looked up is if I pulled her back with my hand fisted in her soft curls and planted my lips firmly on her plump lips. The little nymph has said that I should feel free to interrupt her for breaks of that sort any time.
