It takes a special kind of woman to rule the roost, especially when she has to deal with you three. I have a feeling if anyone can do it, it’s her,” Kermit says from behind me
“You got all that from spending ten minutes in her company?”
“I got that the second she opened her mouth. I’m more confused that you’ve spent longer than ten minutes with her and haven’t gotten it yet.” He chuckles, slapping me on the back before he disappears into the garage.
Fuck, I hate it when he has a point.
What drew me to Reign was the fact that she is so different from the bitches we usually get here. Prime pussy might reel you in, but it only takes you so far if there is nothing but air between their ears.
Reign is different. She’s feisty, not easily intimidated, and yet she still somehow manages to have a vulnerability about her that tugs on places inside me I long thought were dormant.
Watching her cry last night after talking to her brothers confirmed that I had made the right call. She would make an awesome old lady, and yet I had been trying to make her into the old ladies of days gone by. Like my mom had been. My dad, my mom, and their second, Royce, had been lucky enough to experience that once in a lifetime kind of love. My mom was a natural-born old lady, knowing when to defer to her men and stepping up when she needed to hold her own. Looking back at it with adult eyes, it’s easy to see that underneath it all she was naturally submissive to them both. When they were killed during a club war years ago, my mother became a shadow of the woman she once was. I think that’s why when she found out she had cancer, she didn’t even try to fight it. She just wanted to be reunited with the men she loved, even if that meant leaving me, a ten-year-old boy, alone.
Comparing Reign to my mother is where I’m going wrong.
Reign is not submissive, at least not outside the bedroom. She’s defiant, argumentative, and opinionated. And because of all that, my dick has never been harder.
Fuck it.
I stalk over to my bike and climb on, revving her up before speeding out of the gates that the prospect swings wide. I blaze down the road after Saint and Reign, knowing exactly where they’ll go. After all, there is only one place nearby that serves food worth getting up this early for.
Ten minutes later, I pull up outside Bea’s Diner. It looks like something out of a fifties movie. A lot of diners across the country strive to look this way, feeding off people’s nostalgia. The difference is, Bea’s Diner really was built in the fifties and has been here ever since, passing from generation to generation.
Parking my bike beside Saint’s, I climb off and head inside, pushing open the glass door etched with the diner’s name in large red scroll writing.
I spot them sitting in the back booth in the corner, our favored spot. Saint, facing the door with his back to the wall, sees me the minute I enter. A throwback from being in prison and not wanting someone to be able to sneak up behind him, it’s a habit he’ll likely never break even now as a free man.
He’s also always aware of his surroundings. I bet he knew the second I pulled up and had cataloged each of the other dozen or so diners the second he entered.
He lifts his chin in acknowledgment, making Reign turn her head and scowl when she sees me.
I slide into the booth beside her, grip a handful of her hair, and yank her forcefully toward me, taking her lips in a punishing kiss. She protests for about three seconds before her body goes lax and pliant in my arms as she responds to my touch.
I have a feeling we’ve only touched the tip of the iceberg with Reign. When we do finally get in her pants, I’m expecting fireworks.
I pull away reluctantly, knowing if I carry on I’ll end up bending her over the table and fucking her, regardless of the other diners. She blinks up at me, mumbling something about soul-stealing biker kisses before turning back to a smiling Saint.
“So, what’s good around here?” she asks, trying to sound unflustered, but I don’t miss the hitch in her voice.