Stitch: Satan's Fury MC (14 page)

His hands reached up to the nape of my neck, fisting my hair as he drove into me again. Slow and demanding, he was in complete control. Every smooth slide of his cock into my body was a statement of dominance. His teeth raked over my nipples, and I cried out wanting more. I dug my nails into his back as my whole body ignited with such intense heat, it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. He pushed deeper inside me as I tightened around him, and a deep moan vibrated in his throat as he picked up his pace. His control shattered, and unable to restrain himself any longer, he pounded into me in long, smooth rapid strokes. I fought to catch my breath as I felt my climax approaching. My entire body jolted and jerked as my orgasm crashed through me. I continued to tighten around his throbbing cock until he found his own release. His body collapsed on top of mine, exhausted and sweaty. I loved how he felt pressed against my bare skin, buried deep inside me. I never wanted to leave that spot.

Stitch

‡

S
unlight pierced through
the window blinds, pulling me from my sleeping stupor, but my body was resisting. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so soundly, and it was difficult to pull myself awake. When I finally opened my eyes, I was not happy to see that I was in the bed alone. I’d fallen asleep with Wren wrapped in my arms, and I expected to wake up with her still next to me. Fuck. I was just about to get worried that she’d left when I heard a commotion in the kitchen, followed by the rumble of profanities. Curious to see what the hell she was up to, I threw back the covers and pulled on a pair of sweats. The intoxicating smell of fresh cooked bacon made my stomach growl as I walked down the hall. When I reached the kitchen, I found Wren hovering over the stove. She was wearing another one of my old t-shirts and her wet hair was falling around her shoulders. Her face was flushed, and she was obviously flustered when she reached into the oven.

“Son of a …. God dog it!” she grumbled under her breath as she dropped the hot pan of biscuits on the counter. “What the hell is wrong with me? It’s like I’ve never cooked stupid biscuits before,” she pouted as she shook her hand wildly at her side. When that didn’t work, she placed the tip of her thumb in her mouth, trying to stop the burn.

I cleared my throat and smiled. “Morning.”

With her finger still in her mouth, she turned to face me. Her eyes instantly dropped to my bare chest, widening with appreciation as she stood there ogling me. Several seconds later, she removed her finger from her mouth and said, “Umm… you need to put on a shirt.”

“I do?” I taunted.

“Yeah, you do. I still have to finish breakfast, and there is no way I can concentrate when you are standing there with that chest and all those muscles bulging everywhere. And don’t get me started on that V thing you’ve got going,” she said, quickly motioning her hand up and down my body. “You’ll need to put on some different pants, too. Like old man pants with a big ole’ sweatshirt and maybe a Dive cap.”

“Old man pants?”

“
Griffin
… You
cannot
walk around here wearing those,” she scolded pointing to my sweats and shaking her head.

“And why’s that, Wren? Feeling a little
tempted
?” I teased, smiling at her seductively.

“Look here, Mr.
Sex
on a stick. I’ve made you breakfast. I went
all
out. I even made bacon and I don’t
do bacon
and… go put on a shirt!” she argued.

“Okay,” I chuckled as I advanced towards her.

When I had almost reached her, she started backing away and screeched, “What are you doing?”

“You’re wearing my shirt,” I teased. A look of a panic rushed over her face when I reached for the hem of the t-shirt she was wearing.

“Umm… Yeah, I used your shower, too,” she replied as he grabbed the spatula off the counter, holding it tightly at her side.

When she shuffled her feet, my attention was drawn down to the floor, and I smiled when I saw that she was wearing a pair of my socks again. With my hands still clinging to her shirt, she popped my arm with the end of the spatula. “Back off jack!” she teased.

“Hey! I was just doing what I was told,” I laughed as I grabbed the spatula away from her, tossing it back on the counter. She looked around the room, searching for her next weapon of choice. Seeing that nothing was in reach, a faint scowl crept over her face when she said, “Are you going to behave yourself?”

“I’m not making any promises,” I told her playfully. I placed my hands on her hips and pulled her closer. Her frown quickly faded when I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly against my chest. I never expected to like it so much – having her here, in my kitchen, making a mess while she cooked me breakfast, treating my house like a home. But I did like it. I liked it more than I ever thought I could. She had me wanting things I’d never imagined I’d ever want or need. She had me wanting a future, a future with her and Wyatt. She watched me with those beautiful black eyes as I lowered my head and claimed her mouth. The kiss quickly became heated, and a slight whimper escaped her lips when I stepped forward, pressing her back against the stainless steel refrigerator door. Her arms wound around my neck, and just as we were starting to lose ourselves in the moment, the oven timer started ringing.

She quickly pulled away from me and rushed over to the stove. A wonderful aroma filled the air when she opened the oven door, making my mouth water. I watched her pull out the breakfast casserole made with sausage, eggs, and tons of cheese, and I couldn’t stop myself from stepping closer, trying to get a better look.

When she noticed me peering over her shoulder, she said, “It’s my mother’s recipe. I hope you like it.”

“Looks incredible.”

“Get yourself a plate. I’m starving,” she said as she grabbed the biscuits and bacon and placed them on the counter next to the casserole. While I fixed us both a plate, she poured us each a tall glass of orange juice, then joined me at the kitchen table.

“How often do you cook like this?” I asked, taking a large bite of casserole.

“A lot, I guess. I’m always trying to find a way to get Wyatt to eat his vegetables. He pretty much hates anything healthy, so I’ve had to get pretty creative,” she explained.

“You’re a good mother, Wren.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

“He’s an awesome kid, and it’s obvious that he’s crazy about you. You’ve gotta be doing something right.”

“Yeah, he is pretty amazing,” she said smiling. “I called to check on him earlier, and he couldn’t stop talking about the science museum my mother is taking him to today. He’d spent last night researching everything about it, and I’m sure he’ll drive my parents crazy with all his little facts.”

“I think his facts are cool,” I admitted. “And I’m sure they’ll enjoy spending the day with him.”

“Yeah… they always do. Don’t know what I would’ve done without all their help,” she explained.

“You see them often?” I asked, knowing I hadn’t seen them around over the past few weeks.

“Normally I do, but things have been pretty hectic lately.”

“You haven’t told them.”

“About Michael? No. I didn’t want to worry them. They have enough on their plate without me adding to it.”

I’d never known what it was like to have parents that gave a shit about me, so I was in no position to spout off advice to her about dealing with her folks. Deciding to leave it alone, I stood up and headed to the counter to get myself another helping. When I turned my back to Wren, I heard her take a deep breath. Unlike my chest, the scars on my back weren’t hidden behind tattoos. The scar tissue was too deep, and even the best tattoo artists wouldn’t attempt to cover them. I knew they looked gruesome, but they were a part of me. Nothing I could do to change it.

Before she had a chance to ask, I said, “It was my grandfather.” When I turned to face her, tears had already begun to fill her eyes. “He was just a mean old bastard.” I didn’t bother explaining what he’d done. She’d seen the scars, there was no doubt how they’d gotten there.

“Your grandfather did all that to you?” she asked in barely a whisper.

“Mostly. Some are shrapnel scars from the war. I did two tours in Iraq, but was medically discharged before I could enlist for a third.”

She stood up and walked over to me, winding her arms around my waist as she hugged me. She rested her head on my chest and said, “I hate him. I don’t even know him, and I hate him for doing that to you.”

Wren

‡

“W
hat about your
sister? Did he hurt her too?” I asked. His muscles became tense, making me instantly regret asking the question.

“No, darlin’. I would’ve killed him if he ever laid a hand on her,” he answered. He kissed me softly on the cheek, then pulled back from our embrace as he took his plate off the counter and placed it in the sink. With his back to me, he asked, “How long are your parents planning to keep Wyatt?”

The way he’d just shut down reminded me of Wyatt, pulling back into his turtle shell. It was clear that he wanted to change the subject, and even though I had a thousand questions I wanted to ask, I let him. “I have to finish up a paper for one of my classes, so they are keeping him until tomorrow.”

I started putting the rest of the dishes in the sink, making myself busy cleaning up the mess I’d made while cooking breakfast. Griffin followed suit, and in no time, we had almost everything cleaned and put back where it belonged.

I was putting the last few dishes in the sink when he asked, “Can you do it here?”

“What?”

“Your paper? Can you do it here?”

“I guess so. My laptop is in the car, but…” I started.

“Then, do it here,” he said, giving me a sexy wink. “I’ll grab your stuff out of your car.” And just like that, he was out the door. Seconds later, he returned carrying my laptop bag and all of my books.

“Okay, I guess I’ll get to work then,” I told him.

“Where do you want all this?”

“Mind if I do it in the living room? I like to watch TV while I work.”

He laughed as he said, “Didn’t your mother teach you not to do your homework in front of the TV.”

“She tried, but it never really stuck,” I admitted with a smile.

“Imagine that,” he laughed. “Make yourself at home. I’ve got a few things to tend to, but I’ll be around if you need me,” he explained.

“Are you sure you want me to stay?” I asked, giving him one last opportunity to get me out of his hair.

He stepped over to me, placing his hands on my jaw, and said, “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.” Then he leaned in and kissed me. It was short, but effective.

With a satisfied smile on my face, I curled up on the sofa with my laptop in my lap and got busy. I already had most of the research done, so it was just a matter of actually writing the five-page paper. It didn’t take me long to get most of it written, even with one of my favorite movies playing on the TV. I’d almost forgotten that I wasn’t alone, when Griffin walked in the living room and sat down in the recliner next to me. When I glanced over to him, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out.

I was barely able to form the words when I asked, “What are you wearing?” I couldn’t believe what he’d done. It was the funniest, crazy thing I’d ever seen.

“What?” he asked innocently. “You don’t like my old man pants?”

“Griffin! Where on earth did you find those?” He was wearing a pair of ratty jeans that were at least three sizes too big, and an old Notre Dame sweatshirt with a matching Divecap.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said, looking down out his outfit.

“Seriously? Griffin, this is not the sort of thing I’d ever expect you to do,” I said, trying to reign in my hysterical laughter.

“So you’re saying you don’t like my big ole’ sweatshirt?” he asked.

“You got me… it was a bad idea, a very bad idea,” I admitted as I placed my laptop on the coffee table and walked over to him, quickly pulling the hat off his head. I tossed it to the floor, and said, “Take it off.”