Page 13 of Property of Shotgun (Kings Of Anarchy MC: New York #1)

TWELVE

JADE

My decision to move on with my life didn’t come to me over the bottle of wine I shared with Bella. It wasn’t some grand epiphany I had while she shared her dating stories with me. It’s been weighing on me for a while, but tonight when she asked me if I could ever see myself dating again, I let myself think deeply about what that might entail. And all the concerns I voiced to Shotgun tonight, did cross my mind but not in the way I expressed them.

I didn’t want to throw myself into the dating pool. Not because the idea of stepping into a bar or creating an online dating profile scared the shit out of me. I didn’t want to ride on the back of just anyone’s bike, and I didn’t want to take my clothes off or give my body to just anyone. My body was different. The parts that were once firm and tight, were now soft and there were scars from growing and delivering my babies. Men didn’t appreciate imperfections they didn’t create.

It was true when I said, starting over was terrifying, but the only man I could ever see myself taking that step with was the one already living in my house, helping me raise my children for over a year. Treating them and loving them like they were his. Supporting us in ways no other man would.

However, me moving on with another King, especially the man whom Irish truly considered a brother before he ever took any oath, would never be accepted by the club. I put Shotgun in a terrible situation, and the sad thing is, I don’t feel bad about it.

I just don’t know where we go from here.

Stepping out of the shower, I reach for my robe, but I don’t rush to put it on. Instead, I wipe the steam from the mirror, and stare at my body. I lost myself after Irish died and Killian was born. That first year, I didn’t care about what I looked like. You hear about women ‘ losing their pink’ —well, that’s just a hip way of saying, she’s let herself go. She’s given up on her femineity. It happens, but she gets its back.

It can start with a trip to the salon, where you get the works—mani, pedi, a blowout, and a Brazilian. Then the next day, before you put the same ratty sweats on, you grab an old pair of jeans instead. Soon you’re throwing out the dry shampoo and shaving your legs every day. You hide the stretch marks, and you buy a push up bra to help the girls.

I had started to do all those things, and admittedly they were working, but it wasn’t until I took my clothes off and bared my body to Shotgun that I truly felt my femineity return. The way he looked at me, the noises he made when he kissed me, and the way his cock hardened when he touched me—I never felt sexier aside from the time I caught him watching me fuck Irish.

Now, as I stare at myself, my eyes don’t immediately dart to the flaws, they move to his marks. The bites he left on my thighs and the rash his beard left on my tits. And the only word that comes to mind is beautiful .

I slide my arms through the sleeves of the robe before loosely tying a knot around my waist, then I walk into my bedroom, and stare at my bed. The sheets have been washed a million times, and there are no traces of Irish, but it still feels wrong to slip into the bed I shared with him after being intimate with Shotgun.

I don’t owe Irish anything. I gave him my heart, and we produced three beautiful children together. There’s a part of me that will always love him.

But that’s where it ends now.

Walking to the nightstand, I disconnect my phone from the charger and quietly creep out of my bedroom. In the morning, I will call the Salvation Army and donate the bed. Later, I’ll go through Irish’s things. There are some belongings of his I’m sure the boys will want some day, but his greatest possessions—his bike and his kutte—the club is safe keeping.

I make my way down the stairs and sprawl out on the couch. Instead of closing my eyes, though, I text Shotgun.

Me: Are you awake?

He replies instantly.

Shotgun: No.

I laugh.

Me: Very funny.

Shotgun: Thought you’d be conked out.

Me: I just got out of the shower.

Shotgun: Shame.

Me:??

Shotgun: Liked the thought of you going to bed with my cum on you.

I groan already feeling myself getting wet. Pressing my thighs together, I roll onto my side. If I was texting with another man I would probably over obsess over my response, trying to make it sound clever, and just as equally sexy for him. But this is Shotgun. I’m comfortable enough to just type the first thing that comes to my mind.

Me: Only way to fix that is if you cum on me again.

I hit the plus sign on the screen and pull up my camera app, turning it onto selfie mode. I’ve sent him selfies of me and the kids throughout the day, especially in those first few weeks of bringing Killian home from the hospital. But I never sent him one with my tits hanging out of my robe. I push them together, and maneuver the phone, trying to get the most flattering angle. Then I stop myself. Shotgun won’t care if one tit looks slightly bigger than the other, or if a sliver of my loose belly makes it into the picture.

I snap the photo and send it.

Shotgun: Love your tits, mama.

I was never a fan of nicknames. On occasion Irish would call me babe, but it didn’t have the same effect. When Shotgun calls me mama, I feel that right between my legs.

Me: Then come up here and play with them. I’m on the couch.

Shotgun: Tempting but I don’t need the boys waking up and catching me with their mom. Been beating myself up since I walked in the apartment. We were not quiet, Jade. Legend or Raiden could’ve woken up and seen everything.

Always thinking of my boys.

Me: But they didn’t.

Shotgun: We gotta be more careful.

Me: Does that mean there’s going to be a next time?

His response doesn’t come as quickly as the others, and that worries me. He still carries so much guilt, I don’t want to add to that.

Shotgun: Unlock the sliders.

I toss the phone onto the couch in a hurry, and scramble to my feet. I stop short when I reach the sliders, and stare at him through the glass. I’ve seen him without a shirt a bunch of times, and I’ve admired all the beautiful tattoos that decorate his skin. But I’ve never taken the time to appreciate all the dips and valleys, or the dusting of hair that trails from his belly button and disappears beneath his unzipped jeans. He’s a work of art that I can’t wait to explore with my tongue.

Snapping out of it, I unlock the door and slide it open. Our eyes lock for a moment, then he steps to me, reaching for my face, and slams his mouth against mine. I push up on my toes, winding my arms around his waist as my lips part and his tongue pushes into my mouth. He kisses me just as frantic, just as thoroughly as he licked and sucked on my pussy an hour ago, and it makes me throb.

“Fuck,” he rasps against my mouth. “I can’t get enough of you.”

He lowers his hand, hiking my thigh around his waist as he pushes into the kitchen. Neither of us bother to shut the door as he walks me to the table and hauls me on top of it. His mouth leaves mine, and he buries his face in the crook of my neck, sucking and kissing his way down to where my robe parts.

I brace my hands on the edge of the table and wrap my legs around his waist as his fingers fumble with the knot on my robe. Once he untangles it, his head pops up and he pushes the silk from my shoulders. His eyes slowly rake over my body, like he’s just seeing it for the first time all over again.

Words are nice, but seeing a man slowly lose control as he looks at you as if you’re his last meal, is unmatched. I feel alive for the first time in years, and I want to bottle this moment so I can relive it over and over.

His eyes cut back to mine as he unzips his jeans.

“Can you be quiet?”

“Yes,” I pant.

“I want to jerk my cock while you play with your pussy. Then I’m going to come all over you. Your neck. Your tits. Might even shoot some on your pretty little cunt. But you’re not going to wash it off this time. Can’t hold you in my arms while you sleep but you’re going to go to bed with my cum on your skin.”

I finger fuck myself while he jerks off, but when I moan too loud, he clamps his free hand over my mouth. I cum fast and hard, and when it’s his turn, he lives up to his promise, shooting his load all over my tits, my stomach, the insides of my thighs, and my pussy.

It’s filthy fucking hot, and I can’t get enough.

He straightens my robe, tying the sash in a tight knot around my waist. Then he takes my face in his hands and lowers his mouth. This kiss is different than the others. It slow, and sweet.

Lazy kisses are the best.

When he pulls away, he drops a kiss to my forehead and tucks his cock back into his pants.

“I’ll take the boys for breakfast in the morning. You sleep in. In the afternoon, I’ll see about getting a test. Until then, you take my cum however I feel like giving it to you. Good?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fuck, Jade.”

I grin at him. “You love it.”

He stares at me thoughtfully, then nods. “Yeah, I do.” His eyes dart to the clock and he shakes his head. “The boys will be getting up soon. I better get going.”

“It’s not like they haven’t woken up to you in the kitchen before.”

“True, but not after I watched their mother finger fuck herself on the breakfast table. Don’t trust myself, Jade. Need to gather my thoughts.”

I respect that. I respect him. “Okay.”

“I don’t know what we’re doing, and I don’t think you do either. Until we figure it out, we should be careful.”

He’s right about that. The boys, Legend and Raiden particularly, have been through a lot. They’ve leaned on Shotgun through it all. He’s been their anchor as they navigate their loss, and while I know they love him, I don’t know how they’ll react to Shotgun and I exploring whatever this is between us.

Killian, is a different story, he doesn’t know any better. He calls Shotgun Uncle Shotty like his brothers do, but that’s just because it’s easier to ignore the truth, than to confront it head on, and the truth is, Shotgun is the only dad that baby knows.

“I agree,” I say hoarsely. “So we keep things quiet.” I hop off the table and take a step toward him. My hands trail down his chest, my fingers tracing the V of his hips. “Everything stays the same. The only change is I get to wear your cum to bed,” I tease, pressing a playful kiss to the center of his chest.

He slides a finger under my chin, forcing me to lift my head. His eyes lock with mine, and his thumb gently strokes my jaw.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re some dirty secret of mine. But it’s complicated, Jade. While the boys are my main concern, it’s not just about them. I gotta figure out my shit with the club. Don’t think I’m setting a good example as the VP by fucking my predecessor’s widow.”

“If they want me happy like you said, then maybe they’ll give us some grace.”

“It doesn’t work like that baby. They want you happy but not with me. Biggie already made that clear after Irish died. Told me there would come a time when you found it in you to move on, and I’d have to step aside.”

I didn’t think anything could ruin the high I was feeling but hearing that seems to do the trick.

“Fuck that. Biggie doesn’t decide how I live my life.”

“Calm down,” he soothes. “We’ll figure it out.”

“No, I can’t calm down.” I tag his hand away from my face. “What can happen? I mean to you. What will they do you if they found out?”

“That’s not something you need to worry about.”

“Can they kick you out of the club?” He doesn’t say anything. “Can they hurt you?” Again, he doesn’t say anything, but he does look away, and that only makes stomach roll. “Jesus Christ, Shotgun. Biggie wouldn’t kill you, would he?”

That causes his gaze to snap back to me, and his features suddenly grow very serious.

“Let me make something perfectly clear, Jade. I’d stand in front of the strongest army in the world, have all their guns pointed at me, and I would still fucking come out standing because no one, no man, no army, no fucking brother, is going to tear me away from you. Even if this thing with us runs its course for you, and you decide down the road that you want to move on with someone that isn’t me. You and those kids will never lose me.”

My stomach drops.

“You would be okay with me moving on with someone else?”

Because I sure as fuck wouldn’t be okay with him being with another woman, but that isn’t a new realization either. Every time the man leaves the house, and I don’t know where he’s going, I get a knot in my stomach.

He lifts his hands to my face, cupping my cheeks.

“No, mama, but I’m a seasoned professional in that area. I’d hate it with ever fiber of my being, but I’d still show up for you. It would twist me inside out, but I’d do it. I’d fucking do anything for you. That, right there, is gospel.”