BUTCHER: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 3) (10 page)

It was the first time we’d been alone since the last time we’d been together, some three weeks ago, and we were definitely making up for lost time. We couldn’t keep our hands, mouths, or other body parts off of each other, and we both acted with a relentless passion that, although hurried, was not rushed. We just couldn’t wait to have each other and—for lack of a better word—had a “quickie” right there on the couch as we waited for the food to arrive.

I came. Butcher came. Then the food came. And a short while later, Butcher and I made our way back to my bedroom to repeat the more intimate parts of the process. This time, however, we took our time and were more attentive and considerate to each other.

After we were done with Round Two, Butcher and I cuddled for a bit and made a few jokes about how “good things come to those who wait.” Our pillow talk tapered off, and I was just about to drift off to sleep, when I felt Butcher move and pull away from me a little.

“Everything okay?” I mumbled, as I rubbed my fingers against my tired eyes.

Butcher was sitting up on the edge of the bed now, fumbling with the pile of clothes near his feet.

“I have to get going,” he said.

“What?” I asked, caught off guard.

“I have to leave now,” he replied, providing no new information.

I sat up in bed and watched as he got dressed.

“There’s something I have to take care of tonight,” he explained. “I didn’t mention it earlier because I didn’t want to spoil the mood.”

I felt a coldness creep over my body, and I tugged at my blanket.

“So, it’s wham, bam, thank you ma’am?” I asked, trying to fight back tears.

“Lexi,” Butcher said, staring down at me. “It’s not like that. I just have to take care of some business.”

I turned my face away from Butcher’s. I didn’t want him to see my eyes, in case I did start crying.

“Fine,” I replied.

Butcher could tell that I was upset. He sat down on the bed again, reached out, and put his hand on the back of my neck.

“As far as I knew,” he said in a soft voice, “we were still taking things slow. When you changed our plans earlier today, I was all for it, but I’d already committed to something else in the meantime, and I couldn’t get out of it on such short notice.”

I turned and looked at Butcher again. He had a point. He was right. I had changed our plans rather abruptly, and I didn’t even think about how that might affect his. It was completely understandable that he’d make business plans if he still thought we were taking things slow; it made sense that, had he made such plans, he might not be able to change them as easily as I changed ours.

Butcher reached his other hand to my face and wiped away a stray tear. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said sweetly. “Next time we go out, I’m all yours. I’ll spend the night here with you, and we’ll fall asleep in each other’s arms… I promise.”

“Okay,” I said, placing my hand on top of Butcher’s. He leaned in and kissed me gently.

“Until then,” he said as he pulled back and rose to his feet again. He shoved one foot into a boot, then the other.

“Until then,” I repeated, bowing my head as he walked out of my room.

~ Lexi ~

Butcher had promised me that the next time we went out, he’d spend the night. He’d be all mine, he told me. “We’ll fall asleep in each other’s arms,” he’d said.

Promises made are promises broken. The next time we went out, some of those things happened, some of them did not, and we ended up having that big fight, where I kicked him out of my apartment and we broke up.

The night started out fine by all accounts and measures. It was a Friday night, and Butcher and I had agreed to meet at Tellie’s around six thirty after I was done with work. We both arrived there promptly, without any unnecessary delay or distraction, and in no time, we were enjoying our Miller Lite bottles and burgers with ketchup, pickles, and onions.

At the end of our meal, Carrie was able to convince us to order dessert, and in hindsight, I can say that was probably the high point of our evening. Butcher and I decided to split a piece of peach pie
á la mode
, which was topped with the fresh, locally hand-churned ice cream she’d told me about on my first visit.

The peach pie
á la mode
was… the bomb! There’s no other way to describe it.

Once we were done with dessert, Butcher and I chatted with Carrie for a few minutes, then left. The ride from Tellie’s to my place was just as invigorating as my other rides with Butcher had been, and just as uneventful.

We arrived at my apartment around nine. There were still plenty of beers left over from our at-home date the other night, so I offered Butcher one, and of course, he accepted. I told him to make himself comfortable and went to the kitchen to grab two beers. I cracked them open, took them into the living room, and set them down on the coffee table.

Butcher grabbed one and took a chug, then patted the spot next to him on the sofa.

“Give me a minute,” I said, shaking my head playfully. “I had a long day at work and wanna change out of these clothes, maybe freshen up a little.”

Butcher smirked and gave me a look that suggested he found my choices moot, if not futile.

I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. “Be right back,” I told him.

I went off to my room, got a change of clothes, and headed to the bathroom to “freshen up.” I only spent a few minutes in there—maybe ten minutes max—and emerged a rejuvenated woman, ready for action.

But when I walked into the living room, Butcher wasn’t there.

I went to the kitchen.

He wasn’t there either.

What the fuck?
I thought to myself.

I went back to the living room to better inspect the scene. Butcher’s jacket was still on the couch, and his beer was still on the coffee table—and still about fifty percent full.

“Butcher?” I called out, eyeing every visible corner of my apartment. I didn’t know if I should be terrified or wait for the punchline. I felt like I was either in a horror movie or on
Candid Camera
.

No sooner than I spoke, I noticed that my apartment door was cracked open, just a smidge, and I slowly, cautiously walked towards it.

Just as I got within an arm’s reach, the door swung open and almost hit me. I jumped back, gasped, jolted, and threw my hand on my chest above my heart.

“Hey,” Butcher said, walking into my apartment ever-so nonchalantly. When he saw my reaction, his expression changed to one of concern flecked with amusement. “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out his arm to steady me. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He moved closer to me and embraced me, and as I buried my face in his neck, I swear, I heard muted laughter, which made me sigh and giggle. I admit it: I must’ve looked pretty funny, reacting the way that I did.

I pulled back from Butcher and shook my head at him, and we both turned and walked back to the sofa.

“What was that all about anyway?” I asked, picking up my beer.

“I got a call,” Butcher answered, picking up his as well. “Business.”

“Great,” I said sarcastically after taking a sip. “Let me guess… You have to leave now?”

“No, no,” Butcher said in a cajoling tone. “I told you; I’m all yours tonight. I’m not going anywhere. I just had to take that call. Business is business, ya know… Sorry.”

Butcher took a long drag of beer, then another. And I, as usual, overlooked his social transgression and went about the rest of our night as if the disruptive phone call never happened.

Butcher and I sat and talked for a while and each drained a few more bottles. I was feeling a little tipsy, though not quite drunk yet, and the alcohol had started to lower my inhibitions a bit.

When we each finished our bottles, I went to the kitchen to get us each another. But when I saw what was in my fridge, I came up with a better idea.

I shut the refrigerator door and returned to the living room emptyhanded. “There’re only two beers left,” I said with a frown.

Butcher looked at me expectantly.

“I figured we might wanna save them for after,” I added, turning my frown upside down.

“After?” Butcher asked, raising his eyebrow. “After what?”

“After we’re done back here,” I said, as I turned and walked toward my bedroom. “I’m guessing we’re both gonna break a sweat and get a little thirsty.”

I heard Butcher grunt a laugh, then heard the sound of him following me down the short hallway. I kept my sights focused on the door ahead of me and didn’t turn back to look at him. But soon enough, I felt him.

Butcher came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my body just as I walked into my room. We hadn’t even made it past the doorframe, when he leaned down and started kissing my neck. I felt his hands move up to cup my breasts, and I instinctively arched my back, pressing my ass firmly against his swollen member.

Still embracing each other, Butcher and I meandered forward a bit, until, at some point, he spun me around, took hold of me, and pulled me closer to him. We were face-to-face, and mouth-to-mouth, holding each other, touching each other, and stumbling ever closer to the bed.

I fell on the bed in a thump and slid up the bed, into a more accommodating positon. A moment later, Butcher was on top of me, and his hands were exploring my body.

Butcher leaned back to remove his shirt, and I followed suit and removed mine.

“Mmm,” Butcher moaned, as he eyed my chest wantonly. “Keep this on. I like it.”

He was referring to the new bra I’d purchased the other day. It wasn’t necessarily my regular style, and I got it specifically to entice him, which, obviously, it did. It was beige satin balconette with an intricate black lace overlay, and it had a very burlesque look and feel to it.

Butcher buried his face between my satin and lace and kissed, sucked, and licked at my breasts. I writhed beneath him, throbbing from his touch.

“Do the panties match?” he asked, raising his head from my chest and looking longingly down my body.

I laughed and ran my hands down Butcher’s chest, then slid them to my own waist.

“Who said I was wearing panties?” I asked impishly, as I started to pull down my pants.

Butcher groaned and swiftly lowered his body, so that his face was between my legs. He grabbed hold of my pants and finished removing them for me—and as he was still pulling them off, he dove right in and started going to town on my pussy.

He didn’t take the time to tease, taunt, or tempt me. He went straight for my most sensitive spots and started working on them with fervor; and, in no time, I felt myself on the brink of a blissful explosion.

Before I could explode, however, Butcher stopped licking. He stopped sucking. He stropped flicking, twirling, and rubbing. He pulled his face away from me and repositioned his body, effortlessly taking off his pants as he did.

I spread my legs to welcome him, as he got on top of me again, and started panting when I felt his bare cock come near me.

Butcher didn’t waste any time and forcefully, yet thoughtfully, pushed himself inside of me. My voice cracked, as I whimpered in delight, and I wrapped both my arms and legs around Butcher’s body, clinging to him like some type of dangling mammal, clinging to a tree branch.

Only moments earlier, Butcher had had me on the brink of coming, and now, he’d brought back to the brink, and I felt myself coming closer and closer to my sweet release.

Master lover that he was, Butcher sensed my impending orgasm and started pumping away at me more deliberately and harder. I felt that familiar pulse somewhere inside of me, and a wave of pleasure rippled over my body. My legs jerked beneath Butcher’s weight, and my internal muscles tremored against him.

While I was still moaning, groaning, and shaking, Butcher reached his critical point, too. He thrust hard into me a few more times, then panted, growled, and mumbled bumbled noises. A second later, as I eased back down from my climax, he pulled out, threw his head and neck back, and erupted all over my stomach.

“Wow,” Butcher said, panting, as he sat back on his knees. He ran his hand over the outside of my thigh, leaned over, and pecked me on the forehead. His breath felt hot and wet, and oddly soothing.

Butcher reached to the side and picked up his T-shirt, which he used to wipe away the cum he’d splattered on my tummy. I watched attentively, as he carefully dabbed my body with the garment, trying not to treat me too roughly. There was something so endearing about the way he did it. He made me feel truly cared for.

Once Butcher was done cleaning the mess we’d made, he glided his body up next to mine, and we assumed the “spooning” position. He was the big spoon again, and I was the little one, and we fit together perfectly. The closeness we shared was so tight you couldn’t squeeze a hair between us, and I felt so secure and so comfortable that I quickly fell asleep without even realizing it.

I awoke sometime later to a strange vibrating sound coming from the far side of the bed. I didn’t move or stir but remained still and, a moment later, felt Butcher release his hold on me. He moved to the end of the bed, bent down, and riffled through his clothing, then sat back up, leaned over, and appraised me, presumably to see if I was still sleeping.

I’d heard, and felt, Butcher coming, so I managed to close my eyes and relax my face into a drooling, dumbfounded position just in time. He fell for my ruse and quietly rolled back over to the end of the bed, stood, and slowly crept out of my bedroom.

It may have seemed out of place when I first heard it. But I’m no dummy. I knew what that sound was. It was the sound of Butcher’s phone “ringing.” Someone was calling him—at 1:48 in the morning, according to my clock-radio—and he went off to answer.

I heard the bathroom door shut, then heard nothing but silence. My mind started racing. I figured the call was a business call, but I wondered why it was so important. If Butcher made plans to be “all mine” tonight, surely that meant he cleared his schedule with his gang associations. So why the fuck were they still calling?

I never asked Butcher about his business or about his business calls. And every time he got a call, I just turned the other cheek and looked the other way while he went off somewhere else to take it. He never conducted those conversations in front of me. And in general, I was fine with that. Don’t ask, don’t tell—the less I knew about that part of his life, the better… Right?

I don’t know what came over me, but all of a sudden, I felt the impulse to listen in and eavesdrop. I wanted to know what Butcher was talking about—what was so important to drag him out of bed at 1:48 in the morning on his day off.

I walked over to my closet, leaned into it, and cocked my head toward the back wall. The service panel to my bathroom plumbing was located there, and it gave me an auditory advantage. The panel itself is very thin, you see, and the space between it and the bathroom wall, but for a few pipes, was mostly hollow—so when you stood in the right place and listened hard enough, you could hear every little thing that went on in the bathroom from the closet, as if you were in the same room.

I listened closely and heard Butcher clear as day.

“…some time tomorrow,” I heard him say, ending a sentence. “Mmhm,” he hummed after a pause.

I heard what could have been a sigh—or a fart, seeing how he
was
in the bathroom—then didn’t hear anything for about twenty seconds.

“I know, Sonja,” he said. “I’m sorry. But I told you. I had to take care of some business. You know how important my work is.”

My heart fluttered in my chest—and not in a good way.
Huh?
I asked myself. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. Butcher told someone named “Sonja” that he was taking care of business?!?! I’d heard that line before, many times, and up until now, I always believed it. But now that
I
was business, too, I realized that I’d been far too trusting.

Still I decided to give Butcher the benefit of the doubt and keep listening, but what I heard next only made matters much worse. “Alright, baby,” Butcher said in a sweet tone that made me sick to my stomach. “I miss you. I love you. And I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

Those sounded like “closing” words to me, and I figured Butcher had ended his call. So after fighting back the urge to vomit, I stealthily ran back to my bed, hopped under the covers, and curled up into a seemingly comfortable position.