Page 77 of Perdition
“No the fuck he doesn’t! He’d not much older than our son—and Em knows better than to let another man touch what’s mine.”
Right, just like you know better than to let another woman touch what’s hers.
And as if God hadn’t already burned his ass with holy fire, the object of his greatest shame came striding through the door, looking all sorts of troubling.
It took a single glance to know that woman wasn’t there to have fun with her friends and let the drama go. Not only had Sarah come in alone, but she’d spotted him and was making her way toward him, intent and poison in her eyes.
Beside him, Patriot spat, “Whatthe fuckis she doing here?”
“Nothing good,” Redtube added.
Earlier, Redtube had discovered something interesting, and Frost was still seething with it.
It explained something that had been troubling him, and he couldn’t wait to hand that bitch all the consequences that came with fucking with the Unchained MC.
Frost was angry as hell at this woman’s fucking audacity.
Just that morning, he’d had Tony Dos collect her shit and toss it on the other side of the compound gates. Then, he’d called for emergency Church, told them about Sarah’s trip to Emily’sstore and all the shit she said, and then called for a vote to have Sarah removed from the club.
It was unanimous. Sarah was out, and not a single person there had felt her loss.
When Frost called her to the common room to inform her of her forced departure, she simply smiled, waved, and sauntered out of the building.
Fool for him thinking that was that, and she’s just go on about her life without looking back.
Because here she was, standing in front of him, looking like trouble brewed, dark and strong, and ready to pour out.
Before Sarah could reach him, Em was there in all her dirty schoolgirl glory, wrapping her arm around him, and pressing the plump breasts against his side.
Fuck! She fit against him like a piece of him that been missing was now whole. She was soft, warm, and her scent—goddammit! She smelled like honey and lavender, and her breath smiled like the Moscow Mule she’d been drinking. He wanted to bend down, sip at her lips until all he could taste was his Emily.
He wanted to get drunk on her until all his senses were drowning in her.
His heart pounding, his body burning to melt into hers, he wrapped his arm around her, gripping her hip and holding her to him like a lifeline.
And just like that, his dream came true—Em pushed up to her tip toes, and kissed him.
Shocked didn’t cover it, but he recovered quickly.
Growling, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, and dove in.
Tongue, teeth, hunger—he ravaged her mouth like a man dying, because he was. He’d been dying without her.
Emily groaned, opening her mouth, and wrapping her right arm around his neck, desperately holding on to him.
Every inch of him rejoiced; his woman was kissing him, and he could finally breathe again.
His mouth ravished her, taking, giving, their kiss was the kiss of long-lost lovers, reunited.
Around them, the noise of the bar quieted, the world disappeared, and emotions—storm tossed and visceral—fed on one another until the only thing he could do was pour into her every fear, sorrow, regret, and determined hope.
Someone cleared their throat, making Em stiffen, then pull away, cutting him off from their kiss…his air supply.
Silently cursing, he let Em drop to her heels, his gaze intent on her face. She was more flushed than before, her lips swollen, her eyes glassy, and she was trying to get her breathing under control.
She pressed her lips together, a sign her knew to mean she was flustered. Good. He was too, goddammit!
The urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to the office to continue their kiss—and then slide inside her for the first time in too long—was so strong his muscles were twitching with the strain to hold himself in place.