Page 81 of Kings Don't Break

Separated, soon-to-be-divorced, I should be too. I should be enjoying every perk my newfound freedom affords me.

Yet, the idea of hopping into bed with Blake… terrifies me.

It’s not that I don’t trust him. I trust him more than any other living, breathing person on the planet. Not only would he make me feel safe, but he’d make it his duty to ensure I feel good.

So fucking good.

At age seventeen, Blake had me seizing up in pleasure. More than Ken ever came close to accomplishing. What would Blake do to me as an experienced 28-year-old man?

I shudder at the thought.

I just need to… let go. Stop overthinking. Stop living in my insecurities.

Remind myself it wouldn’t have to be some heavy, traumatizing experience like it often was with Ken. With Blake it would be… actually pleasurable.

“Did you hear me, Kori?” Blake asks.

I double blink out of my thoughts and hum in answer. “Hmmm?”

“I’m gonna go put a different song on the jukebox. Something Ozzie doesn’t know the words to. Need anything?”

I wave him off with a reassuring nod I’ll be okay. Not a second later, Mick returns with our Dr Peppers. I take one look at the soda he’s poured into glasses with ice cubes and then beckon him closer.

“Can you add a shot—or two—of whiskey to this?”

Mick raises his left bushy brow. “So you’re trying to have a real good night tonight, eh, sweets?”

I laugh. “I need something to loosen me up.”

“If this isn’t a reminder you’re all grown up now.” He takes back my glass of Dr Pepper and browses the wall of liquor bottles.

“Korine McKibbens. How long’s it been?”

I recognize the voice immediately. Silver’s snagged the stool Blake was once in.

Otherwise known as the Vice President of the Steel Kings, Jeffrey “Silver” Kingman has always been to Tom Cutler what Blake is to Mace. His righthand man that commands respect in the MC. In high school, I had a small crush on Silver in a silly girlish sort of way; something easy to develop when he was striding around with his shock of silver hair and piercing, dark eyes. He had enough of an edge to feel exciting without crossing into felon territory.

Just like Blake.

In more recent times, from what I’ve been told, Silver’s been MIA as he dealt with a nasty divorce and custody battle. During that time, Mace has been acting Prez while Tom Cutler’s been in prison.

I welcome him with rounded eyes and a surprise hum of my throat. “I thought you were on a leave of absence?”

His shoulders, molded by muscle even at his late-forties age, give a shrug. “I had some things to take care of. That happens when your prescription-pill-addicted wife up and takes your kids one day without telling you.”

“That sounds… rough.”

“No rougher than what I’ve heard you’ve got going on,” he says, reaching out to clamp a hand to my shoulder like the father figure he is for the club. His brow creases with concern. “Do you have a handle on things, or am I going to have to get involved?”

“I appreciate the concern. But I think… I’m finally starting to be okay.”

“You and Cash have been reconnecting from what I hear.”

The insinuation gleams in his dark eyes. My skin flushes against my wishes. I swallow another mouthful of my whiskey and Dr Pepper in an attempt at distraction. “We have. Blake’s been… amazing. Not that it’s a surprise.”

“You might not see it. But Cash’s made how he feels clear.”

I’m on the cusp of asking him to explain when he gestures to something beyond my shoulder.