“What are you thinking about?” Arthur asked softly.
I smiled lazily, surveying the churned grass, discarded napkins, and strewn bottles around the roaring open fire. The majority of men were drunk. In fact, so were the women. But there was no aura of violence or suspicion like the occasional functions at Dagger Rose. No jealousy or resentment.
I just hope they all survive whatever is coming.
“I’m thinking how happy I am. Here with you.” Twisting on his lap, I pressed my mouth against his in a tender kiss. “I missed you so much, Art.”
His eyes shot to a dark green as lust sprang strong. “I missed you, too.”
The buzz in my blood from alcohol layered my vision with a romantic haze as I turned my attention back to the gathering. Chairs had been pulled from the tables and ringed around the large fire. Women perched on their men’s knees, their arms—bare in the Florida heat—draped over them. Affection was visible: pink strands joining ruffian men with their significant others.
Cuts had been removed and littered the backs of chairs while others puddled on tables. The orange glow of the fire sent stencils over their tattooed skin, marking all of us with its warmth.
“They’re a great group,” Arthur said, lifting his beer to his lips. The sound of him swallowing sent a shiver of need through me. As delicious as it’d been sitting on his lap all evening, eating morsels of barbeque from his fingers, and sharing a plate of dessert, I ached with desire.
Not only was I fascinated by this man but I was also in shock, in love, and most of all in wonderment of him. I needed to have him naked. I needed him above me, inside me, bared to me—so I could finally uncover every facet of who he was.
I need him because all of this … it’s fleeting. We were in the eye of the storm—whipped by unseen winds just waiting to tear our happiness away.
“They have a good leader.” My eyes fell on Grasshopper. He’d entertained us with bad guitar playing, awful lyrics, and terrible ghost stories once we’d all slipped into a food coma around the bonfire.
Now he sat alone.
Unpaired with a woman, he was one of the few single men, sitting in a fumigation of smoke, sucking on a cigar and nursing a beer. His long legs were spread in front of him, the heels of his black boots indenting the dry dirt below. Despite his aloneness, he seemed happy. His gaze was warm and slightly glazed as he took in his Club.
“What’s his story?” I asked, sighing deeper into Arthur’s embrace.
“Hopper?”
I nodded. “Despite being related to the man who sprung you from jail.”
Chuckling, Arthur shuffled me higher on his lap. The warmth of licking flames slowly turned the liquor in my blood into a sedative. The strawberry daiquiris Melanie had concocted subdued noise and light—making everything dreamlike.
“Jared is loyal, loyal, and hardworking.” Arthur finished his beer, placing the empty on the ground. “He’s been with women, but no one ever sticks.”
“Why not? He’s good-looking, well spoken, got a good position.” Not to mention a rich family. Being Wallstreet’s son meant he would inherit a lot. If Wallstreet had hidden away his assets before going to jail, of course.
Arthur shrugged. “At the time, I thought he might have the same issue as me: heartbroken in the past and unwilling to move on.”
“You don’t think that anymore?” I jumped as Arthur’s fingers spread over my belly possessively.
“No, I don’t think that anymore.”
I bit my lip as his fingers inched downward, teasing the delicate skin above my waistband. Without a word, he popped the button and pushed his large hand past the restriction of my jeans and into my panties.
Oh, God.
“Art, what are you doing?” My eyes grew heavy with need, but the awareness of being on display itched my skin. I tried to halt his hand. “Stop it. They can see.”
Arthur didn’t seem to care, unaffected by my scrambling fingers. “I’m touching you, Buttercup. And I have no intention of stopping.” His cock thickened behind me, his hand hot on my core.
“But—”
“No buts.” His touch dominated my nerves, making me obey.
My head fell back, resting on his shoulder. My hands fell away reluctantly. Every part of me tensed, unwilling to be on show, but unable to fight him.
“Good girl.” He sucked in a breath. “I love it when you give in to me.”
“I’d prefer it if we didn’t have an audience.” I had no choice but to permit his control. However, I couldn’t deny that his possessive hold clenched my tummy.
It’s … intoxicating.
In a weird, naughty way, I liked it—enjoyed showing a secret part of ourselves.
“They’re not watching. Besides, there’s something fucking hot about touching you in public.”
My core rippled, liquefying with desire. I struggled to stay coherent and not drift away with his magic touch. What were we talking about before?
It was an impossible task to carry on conversation, but I tried. “Grasshopper. We were talking about Grasshopper.”
He chuckled, his touch dipping farther. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I really don’t want to talk about Hopper anymore.”
My mouth parted as he rocked his hips into my spine.
“I want to talk about how damn delicious you are.” He licked my throat gently. “In fact, I’d much rather it was my tongue between your legs and not just my hand.”