Head Above Water (Nightshade MC Book 4) (25 page)

“With pleasure,” he growled.

Monroe grabbed her and spun her towards the bed. Drea fell back with a laugh that soon turned into a scream when her back, and her recently branded neck, hit the bed. Immediately, he pulled her back up. “Shit. Shit. Sorry.”

Drea sucked in a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “It's okay. I'm okay.” She wasn't sure if she was reassuring him or herself. Really, it didn't matter. “I think probably I should be on top.”

“I'm certainly not going to say no to that. Bed or chair?”

“Chair,” Drea replied. She couldn't help but laugh as he released her and moved quickly over to the chair.

“You sure that you're okay? If it hurts, we can just go to bed,” he said seriously as he sat down.

“Monroe?”

“Yeah, hon?”

“Shut up.” Drea closed the distance between them. “I can think of better things for you to do with your mouth.” She stood over him, reached between them. Monroe let out a low groan as she positioned the tip of his cock against her warmth. Slowly, she moved her hips, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

She knew what he was feeling; she felt it too. If she didn't have him inside of her soon, she was going to explode, and not in the good way.

Drea slid down, took him in slowly. “Oh fuck yes. Yes.” Monroe brought his hands up, his fingers found her nipples and pinched down. Her body bucked and she took him in deeper.

Even though she'd never really been even remotely comfortable being on top, she began to move her hips with a confidence she didn't know she had. Drea went with what felt right, alternating between nearly bouncing on him and barely moving.

Monroe lavished attention on her breasts with tongue and teeth. Each time that he nipped down lightly, Drea felt herself flood against him. She arched her back to give him better access. The change in position send him deeper in her. Each time she moved, she felt the slide of his tip over the very sensitive spot inside of her. “Oh!” She leaned back further and the feeling intensified. “Oh, God!”

“Go back more, I've got you.” His hands gripped her hips.

Drea leaned back even further. It was harder to move her hips against him, but he was so deep inside of her that she thought she might not be able to walk the following day. She was certainly going to have finger-shaped bruises from how he was holding her. He began to thrust his hips, moving slowly within her.

She met his thrusts the best she could. Unable to form coherent words, all she could do was cry out. Suddenly, Drea felt completely overwhelmed by the strength of the sensations rolling through her. Tears clouded her eyes, a sob tore from her throat.

Monroe's hands slid around her lower back at the sound. He drew her to him, still thrusting deep inside of her. Drea wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his neck and just let the feelings take her over. She came with a scream that never seemed to stop, her nails dug down deep in his shoulders.

Monroe let out an animalistic shout and slammed into her once more. “Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as she sobbed.

Drea rocked her hips against him, greedy for every bit of pleasure that she could get, and tried to catch her breath. “I really love you.”

“I really love you, too,” he replied. “Did I hurt you again?”

“No, not at all. That was spectacular.”

“Yes, it was,” he agreed with a chuckle. “You ready to try the bed?”

Drea wasn't sure that she could walk, but she was certainly game to give it a try. “Hell yeah,” she told him with a smile.

Chapter Eighteen

Monroe didn't know how many times he'd watched the video they had of Frankie and his crew in Buster and Caroline's place. It was at least as many times as he'd watched the one that Anzaldi had supplied. Now, he knew that it was the same group by body language and body type.

It was just over a week since the event, and they were no closer to Frankie than they had been, though there were more eyes looking for him. Nightshade had brought Anzaldi in on what they'd found. Drea had reached out to Frankie and gotten no response, which wasn't actually a surprise.

Nightshade had, reluctantly, ended the lockdown after three days and not only because people were going stir crazy. It had started to feel like they were ducks in a barrel, just waiting for the attack. Spread out, they were a harder target, and everyone was on high alert. Frankie would have to be really stupid to strike again, but he also had to be desperate since he and his merry band of thieves had gone without disguise. Desperate men did desperate things.

He closed the video and set the tablet down on the table in front of him. It was the middle of the day, so the house was quiet. Monroe had finished up on his latest job, and the next wouldn't start for a few days. Drea was at GP, and he'd come home thinking that he'd see something he hadn't already seen.

Now that he hadn't, he couldn't just sit around. Instead, he got up and went outside. Since he'd been half-living at Drea's, he'd neglected the yard. It was badly overgrown. At least the roses seemed to be thriving; maybe they secretly liked the neglect. Monroe got the mower out, filled up the tank and got to work.

In ten minutes, he'd done about half of the front yard and was working up a sweat. It was an hour before he was totally done and put the mower away. He had his mind on a cold beer when he headed back towards the house. He stopped at the sight of Claire on the back steps. “What are you doing here?”

“You haven't been returning my calls,” she replied. “And we need to talk. Can we go inside?”

“No.”

“Why not? Scared that your new bride isn't going to like it?” There was an edge of venom to Claire's voice that made the hair on the back of Monroe's neck stand up. Caesar's voice echoed through his mind, calling her as crazy as a bag of cats.

“I don't want you in my house,” he replied. Anger reddened Claire's face, but being nice to her hadn't worked. It was time to be a dick about it. “What do you have to say?”

“That's a really shitty way to talk to the mother of your child, Monroe. I talked my doctor into doing the test. She used the sample that you gave her.” Claire reached into her bubble gum pink purse and took out an envelope. “See for yourself.”

Monroe took the envelope and opened it. Inside were two sheets of paper, one filled with medical jargon he didn't really understand and the other was on the letterhead of the doctor's office and informed him that with a 99.999 percent surety that he was the father. It was like a daytime talk show without the jeering audience. There was no more asking if she was sure. No more holding on to the hope that it wasn't him. He was going to be a father. “Well, now we know.” He folded the papers, placed them back into the envelope and stuck the envelope in his back pocket.

“I always knew,” she replied smugly.

“I'm surprised you did the test with the risk to the baby.”

“I figured if you were willing to risk our child's life by not bringing us into the lockdown that I might as well return the favor.” Claire tossed her hair in a way that Monroe was sure she thought was sexy, it did nothing for him.

“This wasn't about pass-arounds or hang-arounds,” Monroe told her.

“You need to stop thinking of me that way. I'm not just a pass-around. I'm carrying your child. Like it or not, we're in each other's lives for the long haul. I gave your check to my new landlord. He'll be expecting the rent on the first of every month. There's no grace period.” Claire rose to her feet. “I'll send you the details once I know about the car.”

“What car?” Monroe demanded.

“My new car. The old one gave up the ghost last week, and I can't exactly walk everywhere. I could just take cabs, but that would be really expensive. It cost me twenty dollars just to get here.” She hiked her purse up on her shoulder. “Which reminds me, I'll need a ride home.”

“I'm not the Bank of Monroe, Claire. Helping you out doesn't mean that I'm going to support you while you sit on your ass.” If she really thought that he was going to buy her a car, pay her rent and everything else, she was wrong. “You can get home however you got here as far as I'm concerned.”

“Pregnancy isn't easy, Monroe. I spend up to ten hours a day on my feet, that's not good. Besides, since the test carries the risk with it, the doctor put me on bed rest.” Claire's features twisted into a pout. She probably thought that it made her look alluring. It didn't.

“Last I checked, my porch isn't your bed.”

“Like I said, I needed to talk to you. Look, I really need that ride or for you to call me a cab and make sure it comes. I'm feeling pretty tired. Probably I should sit back down.” She made a show of doing just that.

“I'll take you home.” Monroe realized if he didn't, she might not leave. Even if he called a cab, it would take forever to come and he'd be stuck entertaining her, either on the porch or, much worse, in the house.

“I'm just going to grab my keys.”

“Can we take your bike?”

“When have you ever ridden with me, Claire?”

“There's a first time for everything,” she said with obvious hope.

“No, there's not. Stay here. I'll be right back.” Monroe never locked the door when he was in the yard, but he locked it behind him now. He grabbed his keys from where he'd left them in the kitchen.

Claire was sitting on the top step when he came back out. Her head was in her hands, her shoulders shook, she sniffled loudly when he shut the door behind him. “I'm ready if you are.” Her voice trembled. She wrapped her arms around herself, looked over at him with big, sad eyes filled to the brim with tears.

“Don't do that. Come on, I said that I'll take you.” Monroe walked down the stairs.

“Sorry for being a human, with raging hormones.” Her lips quivered as she spoke.

Monroe suddenly felt a stab of doubt that this wasn't part of her game. Maybe she was just a hormonal bomb waiting to explode. His most recent experience with a pregnant woman had been Caroline and Amelia. Caroline was downright scary. Amelia had been calm and serene for the most part. “Just relax. It's not good for the baby for you to get worked up.”

“Are you going to yell if I ask you for a favor?”

“Depends on the favor,” he replied.

“Could we stop and get something for me to eat on the way? There's nothing at my place that I want, and I'm hungry.”

“Yeah, just figure out what you want and we'll stop,” Monroe told her. “Come on.” He started for the front of the house, where his truck was parked in the driveway.

“You might be sleeping on the couch tonight,” Claire said. “Here comes the little woman now.” He looked over to the grey sedan at the curb. It was Drea, alright. He could see the crystal unicorn hanging from her rearview mirror. From the corner of his eye, Monroe saw a pleased smile flit across Claire's face. “I didn't come here to cause you trouble.”

“You haven't,” he replied as the door opened and Drea stepped out. She'd had several meetings that day, so she wore what she called one of her boss bitch outfits. The dress was the same charcoal shade as her car. She called it a sheath; her shoes and belt were a dark red to match her lips. The sight of her was enough to make Monroe's dick hard. “Hey, hon,” he said.

“Hey, yourself.” She walked over to him and gave him a kiss. “The yard looks great. You've been busy today.” She turned her attention to Claire. “What's she doing here?”

“Just talking. I swear, nothing happened!” Claire exclaimed.

“That thought never crossed my mind, Claire. Did you say all you needed to say?”

“I came to tell Monroe that I had the paternity test.” Claire placed her hand on her still mostly flat stomach. “Tell her, Monroe.” Her expression could best be described as the cat who'd finally caught that canary.

“Your smug expression tells me all that I need to know,” Drea said dryly.

“I don't know what you mean,” Claire said. “It was news best delivered in person. Now, Monroe's going to take me to get something to eat and get me home into bed.”

It was obvious to Monroe that Claire was trying to get a rise out of Drea. He couldn't decide if it made her stupid, desperate, or both. It didn't really matter because Drea wasn't rising to it. Instead, she only looked amused. “Pick up some Italian bread on your way home. I'm going to make sausage and peppers.”

“No problem,” he said. Claire's expression was now one of confusion as she looked between the two of them. “I'll be back in twenty.”

Claire was quiet the entire ride except for when she called to order Chinese. He wasn't surprise she picked Mama Jade's, but she was surprised when they pulled up and he waited for her to get out and go in. At her place, which was much nicer than her old address, he simply parked at the curb. She tried to pout then, hinting that she wasn't feeling good again, but Monroe was no longer buying what she was selling.

He stopped at Sugar Sugar for the bread. Caroline was behind the counter, perched on a stool and looking to be about a million months pregnant. Kelly, a teenager who worked some hours after school, was boxing up a massive chocolate cake for a customer. “Don't get up on my account,” he said as he approached the counter. “You look tired, Caroline.”

“I am tired, tired of being pregnant,” she replied without hesitation. “It would be nice if everyone didn't seem to feel the fucking need to tell me that every time they see me. Essentially, it's the same as telling me I look like shit.” She drew in a deep breath. “But, I doubt you came here to hear me complain. Does Drea need medicinal cake?”

“Not that I know of,” he said. “She asked me to stop for Italian bread to go with the sausage and peppers she's making.”

“Oh, her sausage and peppers is good.”

“You want me to bring you over some later? She always makes way too much.”

“No. I can't eat the onions or peppers, they give me heartburn.” Caroline sighed.

“I'm sorry,” he replied, not knowing what else to possibly say. “Maybe I should bring home a medicinal cake. I mean, who can go wrong with a cake? Do you have that strawberry one she likes?”

“Fresh out, but she's also partial to the chocolate with the peanut butter frosting. Kelly, box that up along with the bread. Grab some milk out of the back, too.”

“We've got milk,” Monroe replied. “Or at least I think we do.”

“Get the milk, Kelly. We'll save Monroe another trip out of the house if he's wrong. If he's right, he's got plenty of milk,” Caroline said. “So, how's everything going with you, Monroe?”

“Things are good. I finished the job on Maple today, finally got some yard work done.” Monroe left out the visit to Claire because he didn't want to get into that with Caroline. She'd yet to chime in with her opinion on the situation. He didn't want now to be the time when it happened.

“I was more curious about married life,” she told him. “You and Drea shouldn't make plans for this Saturday. I'm going to have one last cookout before I pop these kids out. How is Drea?”

“Married life suits me, suits us,” he corrected. “Drea's good. She's been working a lot.”

He felt a sense of relief as Kelly returned from the back with a half gallon of milk. “The timer went off on the scones, Caroline. I took 'em out of the oven.”

“Scones? Since when do you make scones?” Monroe asked.

“Since I found a recipe for them. Shit, here comes Buster. He's going to be totally pissy because I'm not ready to go and we've got a birthing class tonight. I hate those things. I mean, no amount of breathing is going to make me forget that a watermelon is coming out something the size of a grape,” Caroline fumed. “Just give me drugs and we'll be fine.”

“You know, sometimes it happens so fast that there's not time for drugs or even to get to a hospital,” Monroe reminded her. “Back when I was still in uniform, I saw babies born on kitchen floors and in cabs.”

“Shut up, would you? And also, fuck you for that because now that's all that I'm going to think about.”

Monroe held in a laugh and thought that it was the best choice. “How about I head off your husband? Distract him from being annoyed you're not resting like you're supposed to be?”

“Do that, I'll grab the scones.” Caroline dashed towards the back room with a speed that defied her current size and tendency to waddle.

He headed outside to meet Buster. “You got a minute?”

“What's going on?” Buster's expression was serious, as it always seemed to be these days. There was certainly a lot of weight on his shoulders at the moment.

“It's not club stuff. It's personal.”

“Claire took the paternity test,” Buster said, surprising Monroe. “And you're the father. Yeah, word got around quick. She called every single pass-around and hang-around from what I heard. Might be better if Drea didn't hear about it secondhand.”

“She already knows,” Monroe replied. “Claire was still at our place when Drea got home from work.'