“Says my captor.” I arch a brow.
He chuckles and kisses my lips. “I’m going to shower. Sophie, I’m feeling better. You don’t have to take care of me anymore.”
“I was cooking breakfast for us both. Your meal will be in the warmer.”
“If you say so.” He saunters out the kitchen. My eyes fall on his glistening muscled back. Royal Bastards is tattooed across the top of his back. A skull is right below the words. I want to run my tongue over it. How many women have done that to him I wonder?
The sexual tension between us has gotten heated the last few nights. I haven’t climbed in bed with Mavis. Every night he slips into my bed and holds me close.
The night before last he palmed my breasts and sucked my neck. I pulled away because a part of me is still angry at him for locking me up. Or is that the excuse I’m using to keep him at bay?
I push the bacon around in the skillet and scramble eggs in another. The toasts pops up in the toaster and I finish cooking the grits. After plating our meals, I place his in the warmer and I sit at the counter and stare into space. Fuck, do I have Stockholm syndrome?
Do I really want to leave? I don’t know. I’m so torn because of my past experience with bikers.
I chomp on a sliver of bacon as I think back on how good his hands felt on my body. It felt right.
Am I ready to be a part of someone else’s MC outside of my brother’s?
Sipping my apple juice, I try to think of life without this brooding biker. And I can’t.
Mavis pads back into the kitchen barefoot, wearing clean black basketball shorts. Droplets of water drips from his golden curly strands.
He retrieves his plate from the warmer. Doesn’t waste time grabbing a fork and digging in.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Good. Going out tonight to hit another warehouse.”
“What?” I drop my fork. “Mavis, you can’t.”
He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, cracks it open, and gulps it down.
His piercing green eyes meet mine. “Breakfast is good. Thanks for cooking?”
I stalk toward him. “Why do you have to go?”
Chugging the rest of the water he looks at me. Mavis tosses the empty bottle into the recycling bin. “Are you worried about me?”
“Yes. I believe it’s too soon to go out.” I grip my hair. “Can you at least wear a bulletproof vest under your cut?”
He palms my face and stares down at me. “Yes, I can do that.” His tone is deep and husky.
My shoulders relax and my eyes close briefly. “Thank you.”
He plants kisses on my cheeks. “I don’t think you hate me anymore?”
“I don’t have to like you. I just want you to be safe.”
Mavis grabs his plate and places it back in the warmer. Why is he shirtless again? He usually wears a t-shirt or tank.
“I know you please yourself in the bathroom.”
My eyes widen. “Are you spying on me?”
“No, I don’t watch you on surveillance camera. I stand outside the door and listen.”
My cheeks heat under his lust filled gaze.
