Poet (9 page)

“You look like shit, Pres,” a gravel voice said, just above a whisper, and her head shot up.

Her eyes met Fallen’s, his hazel eyes seeming unfocused, but aware. Poet swallowed back unwanted, unneeded tears, and took the hand he weakly extended toward her.

“I could say the same about you,” she said truthfully. She hadn’t gotten every detail from Cyrus, but it was clear he’d been riding when he was clipped. His face was covered in road rash, same with his hands, and his lower lip was busted.

“I have good reason – I was shot by a fucking douchebag. What’s yours?”

“Got jumped at the clubhouse last night during the party. Fucker was too much of a pansy to confront me like a man.”

Her Sergeant’s eyes widened momentarily before narrowing in on her, the previous fog she’d seen in them lifting slightly. She’d known he was going to be one that took the assault on her personally – as her Sergeant at Arms, he was, by office, her protector. Not that she really enforced the position; in Hells Redemption, all brothers looked after the other, with none in particular assigned to any one person. Still, Fallen often demanded the role.

“While I was busy fucking club ass,” he said, more of a question than a statement. When she made no comment, he continued. “I’m so sorry, Pres, I should have been watching your back.”

Poet forced a laugh. “You would have been watching my drunk ass all the way to the bedroom. Don’t even begin to sweat that shit, Fallen. The last thing I want is you or any of the other boys following me around like a damned puppy – especially at the clubhouse. That place has been my domain since I took my first breath. I don’t need protection in my own house.”

“Who knows?” he asked, his forehead scrunching, ignoring her brush off. She’d known he would.

“Shakespeare,” she told him honestly, cringing as she continued, “and Titan.”

“The Bishops’ fucking President?”

“The very one,” she answered on a sigh, rubbing her forehead. She could understand his astonishment. It still irked her to the core that he’d seen her that way, and that he knew her business, club business. Letting an enemy see a weakness,
any
weakness, was never a good thing.

“Anyway, I’ll let you sleep – I just wanted to check on you,” she added, reaching over to brush the hair from his face like she’d been itching to. “Shit’ll be taken care of before you get out of here, so rest easy. Your brothers have your back here, twenty-four fucking seven.”

Fallen nodded, his eyes beginning to droop closed once more. She said her goodbyes, unsure if he’d fallen asleep or if he heard them, and stood to leave. As her hand grasped the door handle, he spoke, getting her attention.

“By the way, Pres? Try not to shoot the nurses. They sorta saved my ass.”

Poet couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face. She inclined her head and ducked out of the room, finding Shakespeare waiting for her. Without speaking they fell into step, making their way back to the waiting room, their brothers looking up at them expectantly.

“I want two of you at his door at all times – take chairs. I don’t give a fuck what hospital staff says. Until we take care of the bastards who did this, Fallen will be watched over by Redemption. If you have a problem, you call either me or Shakespeare.”

Her men nodded and began talking amongst themselves, arranging who would be on guard duty as she left them, her VP still beside her. Once out of earshot, she broke the silence between them.

“What the fuck is going on, man? I get jumped, Fallen gets fucking shot. What are we missing? I want answers, damn it.”

He shook his head. “We’ll get them. Meant to tell you, cameras picked up some pictures of the asshole who jumped you. Nothing to indicate who he is yet, but I’m working on it. As for the Diablos, I’ll make some calls. In the meantime, go back home and get some fucking sleep. Still have time til scheduled Chapel, so take advantage of it.”

Poet said nothing as they passed through the emergency doors and into the parking garage. Shakespeare pulled his pack of smokes out of his pocket and lit one, promptly handing it to her before she could ask. She took a large pull on it as she watched him repeat the gesture, mirroring her. Her nerves were in high gear, too much shit going down too quickly. He must’ve known it, too – because he gave her no shit about the nurse she’d damn near shoved through the wall.

When she threw her butt down, he followed suit, before climbing onto his bike. She did the same, throwing her leg over the seat of her Harley and starting the engine. She knew his intentions, and knew there was no way in hell she’d win an argument over it. He was going to ride with her back to the hills. Shakespeare didn’t like her going out, especially in the dark, without someone to have her six.

And so they rode, Poet’s thoughts were consumed with the events of the past twenty-four hours. She’d had the shit beaten out of her, her Sergeant had almost died, and she’d fucked a biker. Titan.

A part of her was depressed her house would be empty when she got there. It was close to one in the morning now, too late to call Braeden for some company, not that it was his company she wanted. In truth, she wished the asshole Bishop would have been there, if for no other reason than to hold her as she slept, to gain that peace again.

But, even thinking it, made her weak. It was a damn good thing he’d made the decision to take off when he did. She didn’t need a biker scrambling her thoughts and rules, didn’t need a man complicating her life more than it was. And, above all of that, she didn’t need to be weak. Her men needed her at the top of her game; she refused to let them down.

Chapter Nine
 

Poet had just climbed into bed when her phone chirped, alerting her to a message. She glanced at the clock, exhausted and desperate for sleep, but duty pulled at her, demanding she check it. Pressing the button, she was surprised at who it was from.

Titan: I heard about Fallen. He ok?

She quickly typed a reply.

Poet: He’ll live. Bastard who did it wont.

After hitting send, she placed the phone back on the nightstand and turned out her light. When it sounded again, she peered at it from where she lay, confused. She hadn’t expected a reply; with the way he’d left her on the side of the road, she hadn’t expected to hear from him at all.

Titan: Hear that. What r u doin?

Poet: Going to bed

Another message came through almost immediately.

Titan: Funny thing, going to bed. Stared at the ceiling for almost two fucking hours and still couldn’t sleep. So I went for a ride.

She barely read the last word when the doorbell rang, startling the hell out of her. Grabbing the Pink Lady she’d moved into the bedside table, she walked slowly down the stairs, keeping the lights off. If someone was trying to catch her unaware, trying to catch her making a mistake and making herself an easy target, they’d be seriously fucked.

Poet perched to the side of the door, away from logical line of fire and waited. Abruptly a voice called out to her.

“Open the door, babe.”

Sighing, she relaxed her hold on the small revolver and unlocked the door, opening it to find Titan standing there. He wore the same jeans he’d worn earlier, except with a hoodie, his cut mysteriously absent.

“What are you doing here, Bishop?” she asked, stepping aside to let him in and closing the door behind him.

“You look different when you’re not trying to be a badass,” he murmured, his words a whisper in the hush of her dark entryway. She hadn’t taken the time to put a robe on, instead staying in her cami and white lace boy shorts, her usual pajamas. A trickle of frustration went through her but she ignored it. She was exhausted – it had been a long-ass day and all she really wanted was to be in bed, asleep.

Leaving him to follow or not, Poet turned and made her way back up the stairs. She heard his footsteps and knew he was behind her, but she didn’t explain and he didn’t ask. Clearly he remembered the way to her bedroom and smartly kept his mouth shut.

The room still dark, the only light the rays of the moon streaking in through the windows, she crawled back into bed. Titan stood at the foot of her bed, staring at her, his eyes gleaming in the dimness of the room. He still hadn’t answered her question, why he was at her house, but she didn’t need him to. He’d already said he couldn’t sleep.

“I’m tired, Bishop. My body hurts and all I want to do is go to bed. I’d rather you not stare at me while I do it, either.”

“Have room for one more? It wouldn’t be the first time you let me sleep in your bed…”

Poet’s attention snapped to him. Something was going on – his words showing a vulnerability she’d never seen from him before. The womanly instinct in her demanded she ask what was wrong because strong men aren’t ever supposed to be anything but that. Yet, the President in her knew what he was feeling. Positions of power were difficult things to balance. She’d spent many sleepless nights, herself.

Unspeaking, she scooted to the side, pulling the covers down beside her. Titan kicked his boots off and pulled his hoodie over his head before climbing. As he settled, he snaked an arm beneath her pillow, and Poet couldn’t help herself, letting the pull of his body lull her into him. She moved closer to him, her head falling to rest on the crook of his shoulder, her arm crossing onto his bare chest. His hand moved to hold her hip and she sighed.

“When I close my eyes, I can almost forget that you’re a Bishop, invading my house for no reason.”

“Funny, when I close my eyes, I can almost forget that I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Did he really just say that? More, did he mean it? Poet hated that she wanted him to be serious, instead of being flippant or merely trying to get in her pants. And, of course, like every woman in the world, she wanted to hear things like that.

She tilted her head to gaze at his face, finding him looking down at her, his expression unreadable. Poet was about to say something sarcastic, but she didn’t get the chance.

Titan’s lips came down on hers softly, kissing her as he had in the field on the side of the road. The gesture was soft, sweet, completely unlike the man she knew of. When he kissed her so delicately, it was hard to reconcile him with the coldhearted asshole his reputation painted him as.

“Poet,” he whispered against her mouth, his fingers dancing along the hem of her shirt.

“Titan, I—”

“Shh. I know your rules and the reasoning behind them. I know. But, just for tonight, forget all of that. Let me in – you can shut me out again tomorrow.”

Poet wanted to argue with him, the stubborn side of her trying to peek through. But a larger side of her wanted to give into him, to touch him and let him touch her, not out of anger, but because of something more.
Fuck the repercussions,
she thought,
we’ll deal with them tomorrow.

Nodding, she heard his intake of breath before he rolled over, his body facing hers as he took her lips once more. There was no hurry in his movements, his hands lifting her shirt slowly as his tongue entered her mouth. When they’d fucked earlier, it was a constant battle, a duel of wills and lust. This, this was something completely different and it didn’t take long for her to let him consume her completely.

He was warm, solid, his body beside her almost overwhelming while he took his time exploring her. When he tugged at her cami she raised up, lifting her arms to allow him to slip the offending material off. She could see the burn in his eyes as he took her in, her breasts on display, her nipples tightening in the chill air of the room. Her arms moved to shield herself from his gaze but she stopped them. For the night, she wanted to be completely open to him, open to everything.

“So beautiful,” he breathed, the words warming her to the core. His hand moved from her hip to her chin, bringing their lips together again before allowing his fingers to trail from her throat, to her collarbone, to her breast. Poet arched into his palm, breaking their kiss, a soft gasp escaping her.

Closing the space between them, he laid her back down, his hand never leaving her tender skin. He ducked his head, taking the tight bud of her other breast in his mouth, sucking gently, rolling her nipple between his teeth, making her heart race.

“Titan,” she moaned when he kissed his way to her other nipple, repeating the process. He wasn’t touching her anywhere else, other than his large body resting between her legs, yet he was still setting her afire. Her hands rested on his shoulders, moving into his hair and back, wanting more contact, more caresses. More.

He released her breasts, resting his head on her chest, his hair falling to cover his face. “Jesus, hearing my name tumble from your sweet lips like that.”

“I want to feel you,” she almost mewled, ignoring her instincts and letting herself sound vulnerable. And it was the truth, she wanted him.

“We have time, babe,” he said, scooting down, pulling her shorts as he went, leaving her bare for him. His breath was warm, his face even with her core, and he shot her a glance before running his tongue up her folds. Poet’s hands fisted in the sheets as he spread her, tracing the same path.

The emotions coursing through her were a confused jumble, an inner war with her subconscious. Braeden never went down on her, she wouldn’t let him – it asked for too much trust, too much intimacy she hadn’t wanted to give. With Titan she wasn’t sure how to feel. The act put her at his mercy and it was as glorious as it was terrifying. When his mouth closed over her nub, sucking gently, she moaned, her body jumping off the bed. 

“There you are. Stay with me, Poet. Feel this,” he said, inserting a finger inside her, his tongue covering her clit again. Titan quickly added another, flicking them to hit her g-spot. His other hand gripped at her thigh, holding her open for him. The mixed sensations, his fingers in her, his mouth on her, the pressure against her skin, set her on fire, burning. It didn’t take long for her body to quiver, and he groaned against her, the vibration sending her over the edge.

“Fuck, Titan, I’m coming,” she exclaimed through gritted teeth, and he rumbled against her soft flesh again, forcing her to ride the waves of her orgasm. He kept going until the quivering eased, before slowly releasing her and moving up her body, his hands unbuttoning his jeans as he moved.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured, kissing her, letting her taste her pleasure on his mouth and tongue. “Say okay.”

Unable to speak, her body still twitching, she nodded, giving him all the encouragement he needed. He positioned himself at her opening and captured her lips again, keeping her mouth as he entered her. Titan moved slowly, inching his way inside her, allowing her body to stretch and mold to him as he moved. Once seated, he withdrew, only to thrust into her again.

Poet wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, matching his rhythm. With his every give and take, she lifted and gave back, the two of them creating a dance. They were as close as they could possibly be, he inside her, their lips and tongues melded. When she gasped, he swallowed her breath; when she moaned, he stole the sound, until it was too much and she had to break away.

“You are my heaven, Poet,” he breathed, sweat dripping from his forehead. “And my hell. What are you doing to me?”

“The same thing you’re doing to me. Take me, Titan. Make me yours, if only for the night,” she answered between pants, her hand tangling in his hair. He growled in approval and sped up, knowing what she was demanding.

“You
are
mine, Poet,” he told her, his teeth gritted as her body started tightening around him, his movements never slowing. “Let go.”

She tried to deny him. She tried to hold out, to prolong the pleasure and the moment between them, but she couldn’t. Her body became a slave to his, spasming around him, her orgasm taking her by surprise and stealing her breath away. It was intense, shooting her higher than she’d ever been, and words tumbled from her lips, his name mixed with pleas for things she didn’t know.

Titan’s release came on the crest of her waves, bringing another crest for her to ride. He didn’t pull out, filling her as she’d requested, as she demanded. There was no fear of getting pregnant, an IUD she’d had placed years ago preventing it; there was merely the two of them, riding the high together.

In the morning there would be questions, uncertainty, and more issues than Poet wanted to even think about. But as the Bishop rolled off her, taking her with him and holding her, she didn’t care. The entire world could have been falling, and she wouldn’t have given a damn.

“You’d never be just a piece of ass on the back of a bike,” Titan whispered, kissing the top of her head, his arms tightening gently around her.

The spot beside her was empty and cold when Poet awoke. After donning her robe, a quick check through the house showed her Titan had left. No note, no text, nothing; he’d merely shown up at her door, manipulated her so he could get what he wanted, and then snuck out like a thief in the night She’d only been a late-night, can’t sleep, booty call.