Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,68

he’s sweating. I get cold, and I don’t want to cuddle against his wet skin. His hand scratches his stomach, and he flips over to snuggle me, but he grabs my pillow instead.

The man is a marshmallow; I don’t care what anyone says. I caress the top of his head, and he nestles his cheek against me—the pillow—and I stifle a laugh.

I don’t think I love him. I know I do. It’s more love than I’ve ever felt for a man and a man who’s good for me? It’s like I keep hitting the jackpot over and over again until I’m the richest woman alive.

I stand and look out the window to see a clear, starry night, and decide a nice walk and fresh air will do me some good. I drop the blanket and throw on a pair of panties and one of Skirt’s shirts that says Ruthless Kings. It falls to my knees, but I don’t care. I like that his shirts are big on me. It reminds me of how much larger he is than I am. All muscle, red hair, and tattoos.

I need to get out of here before I jump him again. The man, for never having sex, is a fucking god at doing it, and I’m addicted. I pick up the blanket and tuck it around me like a toga, then give Skirt a kiss on the cheek.

“Dawn,” he mumbles on a sleepy smile and whimsical sigh. “Love you.”

“I love you,” I tell him, watching him fall back to sleep with that silly little grin on his face. I bet no one would have thought the big bad biker would talk in his sleep. It suits him. I hurry out the bedroom door and tiptoe through the living room, easing the lock as I turn it and slip outside.

I’m restless, but I don’t know why. I want nothing more than to sleep. Tomorrow, Skirt fights again, and I don’t know if I have it in me to watch him turn into that man. I hate to see him lose himself like that. He wouldn’t be that man if it weren’t for me. I swear, some days I think he is better off without me.

A burst of laughter comes from the front of the clubhouse, and a faint glow appears from a fire. A few of the guys are rough housing at three in the morning. With a faint smile, I turn in the other direction, away from the noise of the club brothers. I need time to myself. My feet are bare.

Damn. I forgot shoes.

It’s fine. It’s only desert out here anyway. My feet sink into the red clay and since the moon is full and glowing it’s light down on me, I’m able to see where I’m going. I bypass a few cactuses and giggle when I remember that less than two weeks ago, Skirt had needles plucked from his butt because of me.

Jeez, has it really only been two weeks? So much has changed, so much pain, newfound love, and yet I feel like I’m at a standstill, watching the world pass me by since I don’t have my son.

“Please, send him back to me,” I whisper to the sky, to anyone listening, God, the devil, the stars, fucking aliens for all I care. Just someone hear me.

Please.

I take a seat in the middle of the field and look around. Crickets chirp and something buzzes in the distance. A faint howl of a coyote ripples through the air and makes the hair on my arms stand up. Glancing around, nothing seems out of place. The breeze sweeps through, kicking up a tumbleweed, and the roll of twigs stops at my feet.

Aidan is going to love it here. All this space to roam and run. He’ll be the only small kid here and that worries me, but I know in time more kids will come, especially with how Reaper and Sarah trying so hard.

I stare up at the sky, trying to find the Big Dipper when a pair of hands slide down my shoulders. I bite my lip, excited that he found me. “I’m glad you’re joining me. I was wondering when you were going to notice I was gone.”

The hands move around my neck and squeeze. “I fucking noticed, bitch. Because of you I have nearly ever MC and every mafia soldier looking for me, wanting to bring Reaper, whoever the fuck that is, my head.” He spins me around and every