Two Sides of Noelle: MC Romance (Demon Rebels MC Book 2) (11 page)

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I fucked up with Noelle. My anger and hurt had dissipated a while ago, after fucking her against Club Blue specifically. I didn’t mean to take it that far with her, but something pulls me to strive to sink balls deep in the sweetest piece I’ve ever had. Making her feel the way I did after that shitty morning was just an afterthought and one that once done took my hate away. So why am I still hurting her?

Because I’m fucked up.

And no matter what I want, or what she wants, or obviously what Cave wants, I will never be able to let go and trust pussy again. Even Noelle. Especially Noelle.

That’s why I need to keep pushing her away and stay away from her. She could have a good thing with my club brother. The club will accept her. It will all be good.

The skank I used as a prop drops to her knees right outside the bathroom and makes to pull my cock free of my jeans. I step back from her hands.

“Not happening,” I tell her in a bored tone and step farther into the light of the main room, ignoring her pouting face. I haven’t fucked anyone since fucking Noelle and I sure as fuck won’t start with that nasty piece of ass. Stealing a bottle of Jack from behind the bar, I make my way up the stairs to my room and slam the door behind me.

Collapsing onto my bed, I take a pull of the burning alcohol and close my eyes. The music is turned up downstairs signaling the true start of the party. I let the hard bass beats calm me and fade into the embrace of the alcohol, letting the burn take me to dreams of being with Noelle.

That hurt. Yep that really hurt. And pissed me off. But what’s worse is that I understand because I hurt him, it’s a rational pissed off. And I have no claim to him, so seeing him with other women shouldn’t be an issue, but it is. Irrationally is. Maybe it was all the ‘you, me, and him’ talk from Caveman. I really started thinking of all of us being a unit. The three of us together, perfectly.

I’m such an idiot. Not even the ride to Caveman’s place makes me feel better.

“Don’t believe everything you think you see, baby.” Cave kisses the back of my head and pushes me into his duplex. Pushing ugly thoughts aside, I focus on Caveman’s bachelor pad. I am with him and I need to be with him, not in my head depressed over another guy.

The furnishings are old and his place looks pretty barren. There are even boxes stacked up in the corner of his living room.

“Moving?” I ask, trying to figure out why he has packed boxes.

“Kind of. I own both sides of the duplex. I haven’t decided if I want to put up with neighbors for extra income or just knock walls down and combine the space,” he answers after popping the top off a beer bottle and handing it over to me.

“Thanks.” I grab the beer and take a refreshing sip before telling him my opinion. “I can’t really see you enjoying neighbors, but renovating will be extremely costly and time consuming and that’s doing it yourself and not contracting out.”

He smiles at me and sits down onto his squeaky couch, then pulls me down onto his lap. “Little Miss Numbers,” he mumbles and I think I might have stepped over bounds. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything and just nodded when he told me his ideas.

“If I renovate I want to do it all myself and only contract out on the shit I don’t know. The cost isn’t an issue, that’s why I’m on the fence. Why have renters and take the unwanted shit that comes with them? But will I have the time to focus on finishing the project? This will be my home, I need to make sure I can invest in it properly.”

Wow. That, just wow. I love how he wants to make a home instead of worrying about property values or turning the next buck. Damn this man gets to me. I lean down and rest my head on his shoulder, relaxing into his heat, and wrapping my free arm around his other shoulder letting my fingers rub against his shorn hair.

“Have you drawn up any floor plans to see what the place would look like when finished? Give yourself a better idea of what you will need to invest.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I should.” We fall into a comfortable silence after he speaks, just enjoying each other. I want to know more about him. I want to be the one that knows something no other person in his life does.

Moving my head slightly, I gaze at his masculine face. Caveman grunts ‘what’ before taking a gulp of his beer. “Tell me a secret about you.”

“You love to talk, don’t you?” I just smile up at him innocently and wait. “I hate spaghetti.”

“That’s not what I meant. Wait, you hate spaghetti? Spaghetti fucking rocks.” His laugh moves my body lying on top of him, making me smile wider.

“Had it too much as a kid. It was all I could cook.”

I am not going to touch that. A ton of questions are raised, but not touching that right now. Where was his mother? Father? Why did he have to cook for himself? “I meant a closely guarded secret.”

“My real name is Samual, Sam.”

Hmm…Sam. “It suits you. But then again so does Caveman.” He chuckles again and we both take a drink. “But again, not what I meant.”

“Woman.” I’m figuring out he calls me that when I’m annoying him, and I like it. Gives me a goal in life, to make him call me that, because the way he says it is like he is calling me his woman. “Your turn to spill something. If it’s good enough I will deepen my shit.”

“Give and take, huh?” He nods. “Fine, let’s see. My favorites are listed as follows. The color purple in all shades, daffodils, four leaf clovers, energy drinks, the smell of your aftershave, horror movies, clothes, shoes, gifts—the heartfelt kind not necessarily the most expensive, and that’s all I can think of right now.”

“Interesting, but not enough.”

Okay. To make it worth it I see that I have to give deep to get deep. But it’s going to hurt. What if he looks at me differently after I tell him? I don’t think I could live with him looking at me with pity or disgust.

“That. Tell me that.” I am really starting to hate his perceptiveness. If he wants it, I hope he doesn’t regret it. Taking a deep breath in, I spill out as fast as I can, something only two people in the world know. “In her drive to make me fulfill her dream of the perfect ballerina, my mother forced me into bulimia until I was continuing the sickness myself, and sometimes I still hear her in my head telling me how fat I am and I have to fight the urge to throw up.” I keep my eyes downcast and on his black tank top. The last part about hearing my mother’s voice is something no one knows, until now.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. He called me baby. Does that mean he doesn’t hate me? I’m scared to look up and see his face. Of course he doesn’t let me hide. His rough feeling hand cups my jaw and lifts my face to his. His eyes are filled with…anger?

“She’s a fucking cunt.” Tears start to fall from my eyes.

“She’s dead.”

“Still a cunt.” I shrug my shoulders and try to look back down, but he holds me firm. “You hear her talking to you, you tell me. We’ll go Exorcist on the bitch.” I choke out a laugh in surprise and nod.

“Time for my secret,” he states and let’s go of my chin to bring his hand up to his left eye. “No fucking laughing.”

“I would never,” I gasp in outrage. I would never make him feel bad about sharing something with me.

His head nods before touching his eye and pulls out…a brown colored contact? What? I look away from his fingers and back to his eyes, and gasp.

“No fucking way. Do the other one,” I order and watch closely as he pulls the brown contact away to reveal the most beautiful purple, I’ve ever seen, colored irises. Purple. Freaking. Eyes. “No fucking way.”

He blinks at me, but stays quiet as I just stare into his amazing eyes. “I’ve never seen this color of eyes before. Purple, but with a blue tint. Amazing. Why do you hide them?”

“I’m a man.”

“Uh-huh, and?”

“Men aren’t supposed to have shit like this.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone,” he answers gruffly. I sit back a bit and take in his very uncomfortable body language.

“People gave you shit about it.” I guess.

“The guys did. The women loved the boy with purple eyes in my neighborhood. I didn’t have anyone to protect me from their touches, so I learned how to protect myself.” His grip tightened on my hip and I instantly wanted to kill someone for a lost and alone little boy. Copying his earlier hold, I cup his jaw and make him look me in the eyes.

“Where were your parents?”

“All I know of my dad is his last name and you could fuck the woman with strange eyes who gave birth to me for the right price of crack and blow. She finally got a taste of H and that’s what took her life.”

“Bitch,” I snarled. Yes, I fucking snarled. To leave your baby so unprotected for shit like drugs infuriates me. To treat life so callously. Then living the way he did. How did he survive? Especially, how did he survive and grow into this amazing man? I wrapped both arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, burying my face in his neck. “Can we be done with secrets for now? At least just until the urge to murder and maim is gone?” I ask and feel his nod before his arms wrap around my back.

We sit there holding each other in silence, letting one another soothe a part inside of us that has never healed. After a bit I start to move and stand up from his lap, his arms fall away from me, but his expression is watchful and I think a bit wary.

“Would you like another beer?” He nods and I quickly grab them from the fridge while scoping out his kitchen and living room. I hand over his and walk over to his entertainment center. Noticing a docking station with speakers, I pull out my phone, tap my playlist, and soon music is flowing from the speakers. Turning to face him, I reach out my hand. “Dance with me?”

He smirks, his glorious eyes dancing and kind of knocking the wind from me at how beautiful they burn, and tips his beer bottle at me. “No.”

I sway my hips to the slow driving beat of the song and pout my lip. “Please, Sam. Come dance with me.” He leans back into the couch, rests an arm over the back, and bites his lower lip while tilting his head to the side. His shirt stretches tight across the contours of his hidden muscles. My mouth waters.

Slowly, to the beat of the music, I slide my hands down my body to the hem of my black shirt and quickly pull it over my head before throwing it at his head, while still moving my hips to the beat. He smiles at me and tosses my shirt to the other end of his couch. I crook my finger at him and let out an inner shout of glee when he stands up and joins me.

“Take your jacket off,” I order him and just love it when he follows my command.

“It’s my club cut. My colors. Not jacket,” he growls and I smile.

“Thanks for the information. Now come make love to me on the dance floor.”

“Make love to you on the dance floor?” he asks, but still takes me into his arms, our bodies moving together smoothly. Did I go too far by saying making love? Should I have just stuck to saying sex, or fuck? Fuck me slowly on the dance floor?

“So my living room is now a dance floor?” Oh. Seriously? That was what he meant? Oh my. He didn’t mind the term making love. Shit.

I look up and lose myself in his eyes, in his arms, and in the music.

“I’m falling for you.” The words slipped out, I am so overwhelmed with feelings, it’s disgusting. I’m not really sure if the words were a confession or a warning.

“Good.”

Oh boy.

His mouth caresses mine and sips at my lips in tenderness before teasing my lips apart to feast on the inside of my mouth. My personal
Dirty Dancing
fantasy is cut short when he lifts me into his arms and carries me into his bedroom to lay me down on his, very big bed before giving me slow. He gives me soft. Gives me torturous. And when he finally allows me to come at the moment he groans and pulses into the condom deep inside of me, my nails rake streaks of red down his back as I come harder than I have ever before. Breathless. Boneless. Our bodies entwined and neither of us moves to untangle from one another until the condom becomes an issue.

“Want in you bare,” Cave states once he wraps me back up into him.

“I’m on birth control, so we just need tested.” I agree, I have been thinking the same thing. To feel him inside without any barriers between us.

“Fucking tomorrow.”

“Okay, baby.” His fingers start to brush up and down my back lazily.

“Hmmm, I like that,” he growls at me and my brow wrinkles with confusion, but I keep my eyes closed.

“You like what? That I agreed so easily?”

“You calling me baby.” His answer has my chest tighten. His soft snore cuts off any further conversation and I drift away with him into dreamland with a smile tipping my lips.

He is such a jerk!

Flying down the highway on the way home from meeting Jaycee at Starbucks, I’m ranting to myself about Wood. His behavior. Grr. He completely ignored me the whole time, like I was invisible. I just wanted one look. Some sign that he knew I was there. But no. He flirted with Stacy. He flirted with Jay. Tossing out dirty one liners that had me chuckling along with the girls but, damn, it hurt. Nothing from him.